


The Salted Earth

by exactly13percent (superagentwolf)



Series: The AU Court [14]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Character Development, Choking, Daddy Kink, Emotional Baggage, Family Bonding, Found Family, Friends With Benefits, Gen, Hate Sex, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Rough Sex, THIS IS NOT BOOK RIKO OR SETH, because they are idiots, but not really, give it a chance, redeemed characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:38:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/exactly13percent
Summary: Seth and Riko are wildly different. Seth lives alone and struggles to make ends meet and keep questions at bay. Riko lives with his brother and their sort-of-foster-brother, Neil, in a comfortable apartment with nice things.The only thing they have in common is their anger. And possibly a desire to make out. And fuck.





	1. Fuckers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A collection of mini fics written on tumblr.

He first meets Riko on a Wednesday.

Ichirou pulls up to the front of the school in his expensive black car, and then out piles Neil, unconcerned. He is wearing Andrew’s jacket.

The weather is shitty and cold, rain drenching everything and making puddles that are too deep and frustrating. It is just as disagreeable as the short teen, with his smudged black eyeliner and the hunch of his shoulders against the rain. His black hair brushes his eyes, as spiked as the studs on his boots. He has metal everywhere; three piercings on his right ear, two at the bottom and a ring at the top. His left has two normal studs.

Seth was waiting for Neil—his friend, his lab partner, the annoying redhead that Seth somehow ended up adopting alongside Matt. Of course, Neil is essentially a foster kid, and his pseudo-family consists of the two most disagreeable brothers in town.

Neil has mentioned that Ichirou isn’t as bad as he looks. He has also said that Riko is just as bad as he looks, but worth the effort.

“Fucker,” Riko hisses, sharp and annoyed, flicking rain from his hoodie. Seth watches with vague interest. Maybe Riko feels the eyes on him, because he looks up, mouth set in a scowl and eyebrows drawn together. His gaze is stormy when he finds Seth looking at him.

Seth is curious. He is curious about this small, angry person and why Neil says Riko is worth the effort.

Riko just stares up at Seth and gives him the middle finger.

“We’re gonna be late,” Neil says.

Seth unsticks his feet from the ground and starts to walk down the covered sidewalk. He does not look back at Riko.

He might want to, though.

* * *

Second half of the year. It’s time for freshman to switch one of their classes out, and for Seth, that means he goes from having Art I to having Art II.

He didn’t want to take art, but a teacher saw him sketching out plans for his truck and suggested the class. It’s been a throwaway for him.

Riko comes in the first day of class, stomping, his chin in the air, and Seth almost laughs. Riko shoves a hand through his hair, fingernails black and chipped, and catches Seth’s eye.

He flips him off again. Seth is beginning to think it’s Riko’s way of saying hello.

They are supposed to practice shading. Seth ignores the assignment as usual, because he has a picture of a very nice engine in his notebook and he would rather explore the intricacies of how it fits together.

He is not paying attention; he has his chin in his hand, a distant tune in his head as his pencil scratches on the paper.

Seth is not prepared when Riko leans onto his desk, mirroring Seth’s pose, obsidian eyes roving the paper on the table. “Not bad. Cliché, though.”

“Your belt is from Hot Topic.”

Riko’s lip curls. “You know it’s from Hot Topic.”

This is how Riko and Seth become friends. Sort of.

* * *

“You fucker.”

Seth smirks. “That’s one of your favorite words, isn’t it?”

A kneaded eraser flies at Seth’s head. Riko beckons, demanding, and Seth rolls onto his side to reach for the gray lump. There’s grass stuck to it. He dusts it off before dropping it in Riko’s waiting hand.

Riko kicks Seth’s shin as he withdraws, a scowl on his lips. He absently rubs his left eye with his free hand; the eyeliner smudges even more. Seth ignores the kick; he has long since become resigned to being permanently bruised, there.

“How are you not done? It’s just a cup. All you have to do is shade it.”

Riko glares over the top of his sketchbook. “I didn’t study art, dickwad.”

“Right. Your expensive education focused on singing, instead. Gay.”

“And your poor ass didn’t have friends, so you scrawled on food stamps with a stubby pencil.”

This should be a fight. It is, in a way.

Except they’re safe.

That is the point, Seth thinks. It has always been the point. Riko can kick and hit as much as he wants, but Seth is six foot two and Riko is barely five-five. Seth has nine inches on Riko. It’s a gap that never fails to make him laugh, but always silently, because if Riko notices, his kick is sharper than it should be.

Anyway, their fighting is safe. They hit where it should hurt, but it doesn’t, because Seth passes Riko the eraser and Riko rubs Seth’s shin with his free hand, right in the spot where it bruises.

And this is safe.

* * *

Something has happened. Seth does not know what. All he knows is that Neil calls him, says _Riko is on his way_ , and then Seth is unlocking his front door and turning his porch light on.

He lives in a trailer that will never move. It sits heavy on the ground, and there is a makeshift garage that he put together right next to it. His truck sits covered outside, because the garage is for his parts and his workstation and the chair that Riko sits in when they are there together.

Seth has seen Riko on bad days. Days when he comes to school with eyes redder than normal, and no one questions the smeared eyeliner because it’s always messy. When Riko is dead on his feet and hasn’t slept but refuses to sleep.

So, Seth turns the light on. He flicks the switch and then pulls on a sweatshirt that Riko said he found, but it was new and exactly Seth’s size and it had the school’s basketball team on the front.

He waits.

Riko comes like a storm. He always does—sometimes a tornado, whirling and whipping things around him in a frenzy. Other times he is a hurricane, roaring dully before a crescendo, then simmering into silence before bursting again and finally dissipating.

He is always _something_. They are always something, Seth thinks, because they were born on stormy nights and have led even stormier lives, and they don’t know how to function without the howl of the wind or the lash of rain.

Seth watches Riko come up the dirt path. He is wet, as if he fell into the shower fully clothed, expensive black shirt and tight jeans clinging to his frame. The black pools around his eyes, down his cheeks, to the corners of his mouth. He is an approaching tsunami, and Seth does not bother to lash himself to anything. He is a cyclone that spins against Riko’s winds, and he can handle whatever will come.

The path leads to the porch. Riko stands there, chest heaving, his hands curled and his body full of potential. Brimming with unused torment.

Seth looks down at him. Examines the water or tears on Riko’s face. The fragmented anger. Sharp-glass eyes. “You running?”

Riko doesn’t even speak. What leaves his mouth is a snarl, and he comes flying, whatever demons are at his back biting him into a frenzy.

Riko is the skies beating down on the earth, so many fists, flying blindly and always hitting something. Seth takes the torrent, the fury, the screams. He takes every bit of it and doesn’t move, because he rotates counter-clockwise to this, and like gears, they grind against one another until they manage to burn out.

The storm ends. It ends with the same growl that began it, only this time, Riko sags and Seth _finally_ holds him, arms around an empty body.

“You should let me go,” Riko says, tired and dry, scorched from his own fire.

Seth just ignores him; pulls him back into the trailer, shoulder nudging the porch light off as he goes. It’s dark inside. Only the light of the moon comes through the windows, cold, nearly as distant as Riko.

“I never do what I should.”

* * *

There is an unimpressed arch to Riko’s eyebrow. There usually is.

“How long has it been?”

Seth presses his pencil into the paper of the sketchbook. Makes a deep mark at the curve of the hand he is drawing. It is Riko’s, hung over the edge of the bed, fingers curved as if holding something delicate.

Riko presses. He always does. “You were never really together. But it was longer than the breakup, wasn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

His reply misses most of the usual venom. Seth should be angry, but—

—but. This is the one time he _can’t._ He can’t find it in him to be angry, because he saw it, and Allison did, and so did everyone else. Every fucking person.

“You are predictable,” Riko says, and it is more than Seth can deal with. More than usual, since he feels the sting of the _you know as well as I do,_ and _I don’t deserve this_.

Seth is not sure whether he deserves it. He probably does, he thinks.

The sketchbook is tossed aside. Seth stares at the door. “Not now.”

Their code. Their escape. A way to pull back, because neither of them have had that luxury before, and it is important to have it now.

Riko slides off the bed. His socks thump quietly as he pads around Seth’s legs, and then he is standing over Seth, and then he is lowering himself to kneel there, like there is nothing unusual about straddling Seth’s legs and staring down at him.

“What are you doing?” Irritation. Seth itches to push him off. To yell, to explode, to do _anything_. To feel anything.

To feel anything about this. About being left. About leaving. About the entire goddamn world and the one lie he had to make himself normal. Fine.

Riko’s finger curves— _curves_ , Seth thinks, and his fingers itch for his pencil—and then Riko tucks his hand under Seth’s chin. Patient. Like a cat, his eyes flickering sharply and finding something uncomfortable that Seth does not think he wants to know, much less say.

This is when Riko says, “Tell me to get off.”

“You’re being fucking stupid,” Seth says instead. He can’t lift his limbs. He is heavy. “I put up with your gay shit. Doesn’t mean you can climb all fucking over me.”

There’s that little pleased curve. That self-important smirk that Riko wears all the time, when he thinks he’s won an argument or when he makes Seth carry his lunch tray. When Riko gives Seth a gift of a leather jacket and says _I won’t be seen with someone in such an abominable coat as the one you wear_.

Riko digs his fingernails in. Biting; always biting, Seth knows, like a sharp wind or a cold rain. Stormy. This is just one more thing about Riko, and Seth accepted it before he knew how to name it. “Tell me no.”

“I’m not gay. Whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

 _I’m not wrong_ , Riko doesn’t say, but he tells Seth as much when he leans in. When his hands curl instead around the sides of Seth’s head, at the bars of the bed behind them. When Riko’s arm flexes a little, muscles taught and dragon tattoo shivering as he leans in. There are cherry blossom petals on his collarbone and Seth’s eyes are drawn to them, as always, counting like he counts the distance between them until—

—until Riko kisses him, paper-dry origami mouth that folds perfectly into every corner, and Seth’s fingers dig into the carpet because he does not want to throw Riko across the room. Because Seth is a ball of kinetic energy with nowhere to go, and Riko is taking it all from him like their lips are opposing charges. Like there is nothing particularly unique or groundbreaking about this, the meeting of two bodies that have always been in opposition and should never have met this way.

Riko leans back after a second, a little divot between his eyebrows, a defiant and angry glint to his black eyes. There is a hint of a sneer on his lips when he says, “I could be wrong, but I think that was weak.”

“I could bite you in half,” Seth says, because it is true, and he means it and Riko has a habit of imagining his is four times his size. Of raging like he is.

Riko just leans in, his smile curved and sharp, and says, “Please do.”


	2. Mouthing Off

There’s always some kind of argument. That’s what happens, with brothers.

With Moriyamas.

There’s logic, and there’s this. The way that Riko finds Ichirou contemplating his expensive coffee in the morning, and it reminds Riko of his uncle, and that brings a bevy of nasty images and words and things he would rather not think about at seven at the morning, three days before his birthday.

At any point, there is really no reason to fight. Ichirou keeps them afloat, keeps them _safe_ , and Riko recognizes what kind of gift that is. What kind of sacrifice, for the one that was always perfect. Always meant to inherit.

Ichirou keeps them out of the family’s reach and out of the sphere of nasty comments and looks, but Riko cannot grapple with a world he never cared about. His is a world of family and hurt.

So, while Riko is safe and he has nothing to complain about, he is always inevitably dragged back to the reminder of what Ichirou _didn’t_ do. Even if his brother could not, before.

“Did you spend rent on your fucking coffee again?”

Ichirou is patient. Too patient, and it gnaws at Riko. “No. You know the budget.”

“Sure. The budget _you_ made. But I’m just a teenager, right? Not like I know anything.”

“No one has said that but you.”

“I seem to remember others, too.” It is a hit. The first mark he makes, and Ichirou slides his coffee away from him, the mug silent on the tabletop.

“Eat. We have to leave in fifteen minutes.”

“Stove’s still broken. Was that where the money came from?”

This is stupid. He knows it is stupid; every word that passes Riko’s lips is a flimsy barb. A half-assed accusation. He can’t make anything stick and so he just throws everything, whirlwind lashing against his brother without a second thought. Without a care for what may happen.

He _wants_ Ichirou to snap. Wants the rage, because there _must_ be rage; they came from the same place. They are brothers, and Riko cannot be alone in his anger, can’t be the only one that’s the same as _him_.

He can’t be a monster.

Neil enters the kitchen. He has a knack for sensing the tension—the anger. Arguments that never unravel completely. Riko’s pseudo-brother, because Neil doesn’t really have a formal qualification, moves past the Moriyamas as if there is nothing happening.

Except Riko sees the tense line to his back. He recognizes it.

He hates himself for making it appear.

“Eat,” Ichirou says simply. He stands from his chair and turns away. Turns from the rage, as if nothing has touched him. “Be ready to go.”

* * *

Seth isn’t there.

He isn’t at the front of the school like he always is, and Riko is _angry_ , and he—

—doesn’t need; won’t say he needs, but he pulls his phone from his pocket and punches out a text.

**_where the fuck r u_ **

Part of him expects no answer. Expects to be left clueless, so he can simmer in his rage, steeping in his own anger and pain like an ancient teapot flavored by centuries of use. He feels poured out, too; spilled and spent and left with nothing.

And then his phone buzzes.

**_locker room_ **

Neil glances at Riko, halfway to Andrew but always watching. His blue eyes question, because Neil always checks, and the days that Riko needs to leave, he comes to watch. To ensure nothing comes too close.

There are less of those days, now. Riko has another outlet.

He goes to the locker room. Slams the door behind him and finds Seth on a bench, skin still damp from a shower. Seth turns halfway, a shirt bunched around his neck, dark eyes questioning. The silver piercing on his eyebrow glints, two orbs like planets, and Seth seems a lot like one himself. Large, inevitable.

Seth evaluates Riko the same way he looks at his sketches. “Problem?”

“You asking, or you calling me one?”

He is unamused. Seth watches Riko pace around the bench; he knows this anger. The tension that levels higher with each passing moment.

This is the thing about Seth. Them. He sees the cracked glass and instead of evaluating where to press and what to avoid, he watches for the shatter. Leans into it, as if the shards are a sweet rain and there is nothing so gentle or refreshing in the world.

“So, what was it this morning? Daddy issues?”

Riko hits him. Doesn’t slap, because that is blatantly off-limits, even without conversation. No; he slams his fist against Seth’s chest, the hard muscle and the bounce as familiar as breathing. Seth just looks, gaze sharp and eyes narrowed, and he pushes. “What did he do? Try to tell you he was proud? Or was he just patient and put up with your bullshit?”

There is something like a half-roar that leaves Riko’s mouth. It is wordless anger that is as ineffective as his blows. He shoves Seth backward; watches as Seth hits the lockers, a satisfied little smirk on his lips. Sitting there, he reaches Riko’s shoulders, and he looks up with dark amusement.

Riko glares. Tries to fit everything into silence. “He didn’t do shit.”

And that has always been the problem, and the solution. The break and the glue. What tore them apart is the only thing keeping them together, now.

Well. That, and Neil.

“So? Are you done? Or you still need to talk shit?”

“I’d rather do something else with my mouth.”

There’s always a little shift, when they finally collide. When whatever gravitational force that surrounds them resolves in a shuddering thud, the ground cracking and the skies split open to the sound of a roaring lash of thunder.

Which is to say, Seth’s eyes go dark like rainclouds and Riko yanks him so hard by his cheap shirt that its seams rip. They clash when they kiss, as much as they fit together; Seth bites and Riko growls. They are endless, blunt scratches on skin and the back-and-forth shoves. They are fury.

But they burn each other out, rotations and whirling paths creating enough friction to slow them until Riko is on Seth’s lap, leaning them into the lockers while Seth lazily takes inventory of Riko’s back.

It is safe to hit Seth, because this is how they will always end up, and Seth won’t hit back. He just absorbs all of it, energy pooling in him until it floods back out as he shoves Riko onto the bench and leans over him.

This is one fight that Riko doesn’t mind. That he looks for, because it is transference, energy morphing from anger to attraction, and hickeys are safer than the hate that threatens to overwhelm him.

If it can all bleed out, through his lips and tongue and the noises he makes when Seth digs nails into his spine, Riko will let it be.

If he enjoys it while he’s at it, too, then what’s the harm?

* * *

Seth curses. He throws his pencil across the room and Riko watches it fly, waiting to see if it marks the wall. It doesn’t.

“Having trouble?”

“Shut up.” Seth tosses the sketchbook aside, scribbles and frustrated marks cluttering the page. He isn’t working on an assignment. Those are easy for him.

No; this is Seth. This is his secret fascination, pencil to paper, when he forgets what he is doing and pours it all onto the page.

Riko likes to watch Seth when he sketches. When the harsh, angry lines of his mouth and eyes smooth over a little. Give way to an intensity that Seth rarely betrays. He likes to think he is shoving his way through life. Riko knows he is not.

The sketchbook is just off the edge of the bed. Riko’s fingers brush the edge and he lifts it, ignoring Seth’s darting hand and shuffling backward on the bed. He looks at the page while Seth growls and tumbles over him.

Riko lifts the sketchbook to cover Seth’s face. “You can’t draw legs for shit.”

“You can’t even draw faces,” Seth retorts.

Riko tosses the sketchbook aside. Tilts his head; examines Seth from below, impatient. The lines are back. He has an idea of what he wants to do, but—

—but, they have only been around each other for three months and it was only weeks ago that they first kissed. Did anything remotely intimate.

Not that it’s _intimate_. It’s just the proximity. So Riko tells himself.

“You need a better reference,” Riko says shortly.

Seth’s eyebrow raises. “Reference.”

“Yes. A perfect reference,” Riko muses. He is already wiggling out of his shirt; Seth helps him, purposefully tossing it into a corner just to make Riko glare. “That’s more expensive than your entire closet.”

Seth’s reply is dry. “I’m terrified.”

“You should be.”

It should be important that Riko barely realizes he has stripped to his underwear, but it isn’t. It isn’t even surprising. There is nothing uncomfortable about undressing beneath Seth, or the way Riko is boxed in by a body larger than his.

There’s no hiding. No lurking danger.

“So?”

Seth is quiet. “So?”

Riko slides one foot up the mattress, his knee bent until it bumps Seth’s chest. “So, look.”

They don’t talk. They probably should, but they don’t, and Riko isn’t sure they ever will.

Conversation or no, though, they are attuned to each other’s tells. Riko knows the hunch of Seth’s shoulders as well as his reflection in the mirror, so he knows to look for it. For discomfort.

The thing is, he doesn’t find it.

Seth just leans back, for once almost placid as he runs his hands over Riko’s thighs. It is a weathered touch, because Seth works on his stupid truck all the time, and the rest of the time, he works on everything else in his shitty trailer. Riko likes the calluses. He likes the scratch there and the heat behind it. The broad palms.

“Hm.”

“Hm? That’s it?” Riko knows he sounds irritated. Petty. Pouting. He really doesn’t care.

There’s a satisfied smile on Seth’s lips. _Shit-eating grin._ “I don’t know. There’s this muscle that I can never get right,” he says, his fingers tapping on Riko’s hipbone. Sliding down the line and stopping at the edge of his black briefs. “I don’t know why.”

“You’re a shit,” Riko growls, and he yanks Seth down by his hair. Pulls until Seth’s mouth is on him, tongue sliding over his teeth and a crushing weight on his body.

He waits until Seth is properly distracted to kick him away with his feet, pushing himself off the bed and yanking Seth onto the floor without a second thought. Seth grunts when he falls, back sliding against the wall. “What the fuck? There a problem with your bed?”

“I just washed those sheets.”

“Oh, you do your own laundry?”

Riko nearly tears Seth’s shirt over his head. He ignores the thump of Seth’s head against the wall and leans in again, hungry. He is uncertain of what he needs, so he lets things happen, taking everything as it comes.

“You’ve got a little problem,” Seth breathes against his neck, and Riko can feel the smirk on his skin.

“You’ve got a big one.”

“Fuck you.”

“Not yet,” Riko says simply. “My brother is going to be home in ten minutes. Think you can manage, or was that the real reason you were dumped?”

Seth growls. He yanks Riko’s underwear down and that—

— _this_ is what he has been waiting for; this is what Riko has been anticipating, maybe since the first exchanged glance or maybe since later, when Seth’s thumb smoothed over smudged eyeliner on his cheek.

Friction, Riko thinks; this is what they are. The friction and the fire, fury culminating in something else.

It’s safer this way. Safer for Riko to allow Seth’s grip, bruising on his legs. Safer for Riko to bite at Seth’s shoulders enough to draw blood, purple-red color flowering under the skin.

Riko can trust Seth with his broken pieces, because Seth has them, too, and he knows how to hold them without being cut.

Well. Without being cut more than he wants to.

So, Seth’s hands shift until he holds Riko’s ass, guiding him, and Riko digs his nails into Seth as his breath dissolves into panting. He is angry, and he _wants,_ and he curses about it all, while Seth lets Riko grind against his leg like some common horny teenager.

“It’s only been three minutes,” Seth says, dark humor in his tone, and Riko blinks enough to focus on the phone by Seth’s leg with the timer ticking.

Riko takes the phone and throws it at the wall. He thinks it might crack open, but he doesn’t care. He can always buy a new one.

“Pay attention to me,” Riko snaps. He realizes this sounds very childish. He doesn’t care.

Well. Maybe a little.

Seth snickers. Riko is tempted to smack his head, but Seth just reaches down and then Riko can’t properly think, because _that really feels as good as I thought it would._

Riko comes like that, his hips jerking into Seth’s hand, the uncomfortable friction of jeans beneath his bare skin nowhere near as powerful as the shudder that wracks his body. He unwinds on Seth’s lap, chest heaving as Seth bites a path across it.

“Five minutes,” Seth mumbles against his skin.

This time, Riko does smack him.


	3. Perspective

Morning routine:

-        Wake up

-        Lie in bed for approx. 1 hr.

-        Shower

-        Check email while making breakfast

-        Make sure Riko & Neil have lunch money or lunch

-        Make sure the bastards eat

-        Make sure the bastards wake up first

-        Read newspaper and eat breakfast, if possible

* make sure neither of them looks too dead before they leave

* * *

“That’s not yours,” Riko snaps. He tries to snatch the toast, but Neil ignores him and bites it messily.

Neil’s blue eyes slide toward Riko. “It’s no one’s until someone takes it from the toaster. House rules.”

Riko scoffs and shoves another piece of bread into the toaster.

They’re in a good mood.

Ichirou pointedly ignores the way Neil hops up to sit on the counter, legs dangling. The way Riko slams the cabinet shut a little too loudly. Ichirou can allow breaking rules here and there. He _should_.

He really doesn’t want to be like his father. Or his uncle. Or Neil’s parents.

Ichirou doesn’t want to be a _parent_ at all, but he _is_ their de facto guardian. He at least has to do this much right.

Even if he has no fucking clue what he’s doing.

“Lunch in your backpack,” Ichirou says, when Neil downs a glass of juice and starts to leave for the kitchen.

There’s no stutter in Neil’s stride as he walks away and says, “Okay.”

Progress. Ichirou tries not to feel triumphant about it. A few months ago, Neil would have stiffened or silently left. Any interruption or call would have set him on edge.

Now, not so much.

“If you gave me any tomatoes, I’ll kill you in your sleep,” Riko says. He stomps out with his toast in his mouth before Ichirou can answer.

“Love you, too,” he mutters to the empty kitchen.

* * *

Ichirou was nineteen when he came home and found that things had changed.

Or rather, they had worsened.

Things were always difficult. Kengo was brutal with Ichirou from the beginning, but for Riko, it was always the brutality of absence. Riko was left to Tetsuji for most of his life, and Ichirou was barely able to speak with his own brother.

He was barely able to _be_ a brother.

At least it was always minor discipline. Things that, looking back, should never had happened; and yet it was simple, the palms slapped with a ruler or the forced kneeling when work was less than satisfactory.

It was always simple for Riko, Ichirou thought, because at least he was never thrown to the ground and made to feel the burden of his mistakes.

So, at nineteen, Ichirou returned from his first year at university and found that things were worse. Worse, now that the emotional abuse was married with directed anger that had nowhere else to go.

Ichirou came home to formally greet his father, and when the nightmare was over, he went toward his bedroom and found the hallway eerily silent.

This is how he knew something was wrong.

There was no music. No sound of Riko practicing his choral piece, or classical music soothingly drifting from a richly-kept record player. There wasn’t even the sound of a pencil scratching across paper, to do some burdened schoolwork.

Ichirou stopped in front of his brother’s door. It was across the hall from his, and it bore the same shape and size, but there was always something other about it. Some seeping cold that Ichirou felt, as much from the room as from his brother.

He knocked.

There was no answer at first. This worried him more; even if Riko knew his father’s summons, the rule was to answer, formally and quickly.

When an answer finally came, it was muted. Dry. Wrong.

“Come.”

So, Ichirou opened the door, and he walked into the aftermath.

He found a familiar haze of incense and pain. A more familiar haze in Riko’s eyes. He smelled the antiseptic and saw the curve of a bandage under his sleeve. The curve of his arms around his knees, containing, a barely-steady tower ready to collapse.

Ichirou saw his brother and saw his father, too, in every slow movement.

He said, “We’re leaving.”

And he turned on his heel and left, Riko behind him, the mansion that loomed in the distance glowering over them.

* * *

Seth Gordon is a tall, frowning young man with sandy hair and a piercing on his eyebrow. He also wears black much the same way that Riko does, except his clothes are noticeably worn and his black-rimmed eyes seem smudged with real exhaustion and forgetfulness.

Ichirou thinks he has an idea of why Riko keeps buying too-large sweaters that he never wears. Seth is wearing one, now.

“Have you eaten?”

Seth glances at Riko, as if he’s going to answer instead. Ichirou feels curiously like laughing. As if Riko would submit to someone else speaking for him.

Only, Riko just dangles, looking upside-down at Ichirou from the bed, and Seth just shrugs. “No.”

This is disquieting.

Ichirou slides his hands into the pocket of his expensive pants and leans against the doorway. Maybe it is the change in position, or maybe it is Seth’s answer—whatever prompts him, Ichirou realizes with disquieting sharpness that Riko’s shirt is out of place and his hair is messy.

It is not just from lying on the bed. Ichirou isn’t a moron.

“What do you want?” Ichirou fights to keep his tone even.

Riko sighs. Throws his arms over his head; they dangle over the bed. His hands linger over Seth’s shoulders. “Sushi.” He pauses then, looking up at the ceiling before he looks to his brother. “Or pizza.”

“…that’s quite a difference.”

“Pizza,” Riko huffs. He rolls over and sits his chin in his hands. “Sausage…bacon…”

“Pineapple,” Seth adds.

Riko’s face briefly transforms into a mask of horror and disbelief. He squashes it with the family-mandated composure of a Moriyama, but there is a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, and it is telling.

Ichirou tries valiantly to keep his composure. “M-hm. Okay. I’ll do that. Oh, and Riko?”

He waits until his brother meets his eye. Keeps his Moriyama-mandated composure, looks over Seth’s head, and says, “Don’t play your music too loud.”

What he really means is, _dear God, don’t fuck when I’m in the house._

He thinks Riko gets the point.

* * *

It’s freezing, but he Ichirou is warm in his thick coat and expensive boots. The bleachers are dirty; on the ground, dead leaves rustle and dance.

It is reminiscent of the Nest. The mansion on the hill, with it black gates and the sharp teeth of the iron. Things were always dead there, too. Dead or dying.

Neil is somewhere on the ground, near the brick-orange-red track. He is probably wearing a jacket that is nowhere near warm enough, because _it was always colder in Baltimore,_ and no matter how many times Ichirou says _I don’t doubt you,_ Neil persists in being stubborn.

At least for now.

“Fuck,” Riko curses. He stumbles a little as he walks on the metal paneling of the bleachers, attempting to balance food in his hands.

Behind him, Seth rolls his eyes and holds Riko’s elbow for support.

Ichirou just watches them. He has taken up watching, recently. Watching his brothers. _Brothers,_ he thinks stubbornly, because three can play at that game, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t count Neil. Not when Neil spent half his life under the same thumb as them.

Watching has enlightened Ichirou. He does it well; most days, he goes unnoticed. Silent. Most days, he catches Andrew pulling up to drive Neil to school and doesn’t miss the way their hands brush. The way they dance around one another, as if they are prepared to fall together but not quite ready to admit it.

Riko and Seth are different. With them, it is collision, and it happens frequently. They are icebergs grating against one another, creaking and groaning and shoving each other like they want to break. Only, they never do, and all that happens in a standstill that seems more peaceful than tense.

Seth leans back against the row behind him as if there is nothing uncomfortable about the metal digging into his back. Ichirou categorizes that thought and instead concentrates on the way one of Seth’s feet braces against the bar before them, his leg periodically bumping against Riko’s.

The thing is, Riko isn’t fond of touch. Not simple touch, anyway. He does not have a reference for positive touch; his is a sliding scale of bad to worse, all beginning with a hand on his body.

Seth touches Riko casually, like there is no trauma and there are no scars hidden by a dragon and cherry blossoms. And Riko _lets him_.

Ichirou holds his hand out and Riko throws a bag of licorice at him. It hits his cheek. “Old man.”

“Young punk,” Ichirou replies.

“Sounds like a compliment to me.”

 _I’m sure it does._ Ichirou smiles to himself as he watches his brother eat nachos, fake cheese on his cold fingers while Seth holds a soda between them.

Ichirou pretends he doesn’t see Seth wind his arm through Riko’s when the race starts. He is too busy watching Neil blow everyone else out of the water, anyway. As if there was a chance he wouldn’t.

They end up going for burgers after, and Neil’s friends come, and the table is livelier than Ichirou has ever seen it, and he thinks—

—he thinks, _this might be what a family is like._


	4. Open Up (Or Don't)

It’s Open House, and Riko is scowling at one of the cursed milk posters plastered to the wall. One of the corners is torn to reveal blue gum-paste, lumpy and obvious against the yellowy-green tiled wall.

He would much rather be anywhere other than at school.

Ichirou is attempting to extricate himself from Ms. Desmond’s room. The Calculus teacher is flushed and flustered, clearly trying to spend as much time as humanly possible with Ichirou, whose patience is wearing thin.

Riko is very aware that his brother’s nice suits and composed face are attractive to people. He doesn’t have to like it.

Neil appears and saves them, like he has a habit of doing, suddenly back from a ‘bathroom break’ that Riko is entirely certain was an excuse to catch Andrew in the hallway to make out.

“We’re going to be late for my class,” Neil says, factual as always, as if he doesn’t see or doesn’t care that Ms. Desmond is trying to cling to Ichirou.

He probably doesn’t care. Riko likes that about Neil.

“Excuse us.” Ichirou doesn’t ask. It’s a habit of being a Moriyama, Riko thinks.

The school is louder than usual. Conversations drift out of half-open doors; other rooms are a riot of laughter or conversation. The underclassmen all have individual meetings, but the upperclassmen are at the point where most of their families either don’t care or expect things to be fine.

Basically, it means Riko and Neil are stuck visiting each of their teachers. It sucks.

Ichirou has everything down to a science. He strolls around the campus as if he has been there a dozen times before, and Riko knows he’s been at least twice, because Ichirou insisted on knowing the exact building layout. He insisted on Riko knowing, too.

He didn’t have to convince Neil. Neil checked the exits the first time he set foot in the school.

They are supposed to meet with Neil’s English teacher, who also happens to be Riko’s. They have Mr. Orwell for different periods, but Neil always trades his papers for Riko’s math. It works.

Orwell watches them approach and Riko knows the moment the thought comes into his head— _what are those two doing together?_

They’ve managed to avoid the conversation for the last two classrooms, because one or the other was missing. Now, Riko can already anticipate the uncomfortable question and Ichirou’s hard stare.

It’s not like they haven’t seen it all before. Riko knows the glances that come in the grocery store. At the theater. Virtually anywhere that the three of them go, eyes follow. Why not? He is fully aware of how backwards it looks to most people, for two Japanese brothers to have a redheaded child along with them. How socially bizarre.

Riko hates the looks, all the more so when they are coming from people that are meant to care and understand.

Seth is at the end of the hall. He glances at Riko, backpack on his shoulder, and does a double-take. His surprise is not because of the trio; he’s seen them all before. Knows them. Seth’s surprise is probably entirely because of the stormy glare Riko is sending Orwell.

Riko pointedly does not watch to see if Seth comes over. He walks up to Orwell with Ichirou and waits.

“Hi. You can come inside,” he gestures vaguely, still frowning, and then he looks at Neil and says, “You’re here alone? I thought—"

“Does he look alone?” Ichirou’s question is patient. He is, for now, prepared to be a little lax.

Orwell’s frown deepens. “Well, students are required to have—”

“A parent or guardian present, the latter of which I am,” Ichirou finishes, a little sharper.

There is a very marked scale to Ichirou’s irritation, before it reaches anger. It starts with a little thing, like Riko kicking the fridge shut. It escalates to shoes on carpet, then slamming doors, then arguments about problems that don’t exist, and then eating food sandwiched between pizza slices. Or something.

Anyway, Ichirou has little patience for judgment involving Riko and Neil. He stares evenly at Orwell, who attempts to right things, and only fails that much more. “I’m sorry. I’ve not been notified of the situation, and I’d rather—”

Neil looks at Orwell like he’s insane. Like whatever cogs were grinding in his head have finally cracked, and he has nothing left to hold his tongue.

Neil points to Riko, then to Ichirou, standing between them like some awkward impression of Christ the Redeemer. He says, without pause, “He’s my brother.”

And then the idiot walks into the classroom, as if there is nothing else to be discussed. As if his proclamation is powerful enough to end all arguments, and it is a fact that now spoken, overrides anything else. Neil says this and—

—and Riko mutters and excuse before walking down the hallway to the bathroom, as Orwell and Ichirou testily walk inside the classroom.

This is stupid. Neil is stupid.

It’s all stupid, but Riko feels a stinging behind his eyes and he widens them, stubbornly glaring at the floor as Neil’s words echo in his head.

_He’s my brother._

Like they haven’t been a dysfunctional family for barely four years. Like being snatched away from _Riko and Ichirou’s uncle_ was just a minor detail that didn’t matter, and the Moriyama name didn’t extend to Riko and Ichirou the way it _absolutely did_.

Like Neil hadn’t been the most scarred of them when they left, his face still healing from a burn that had been ground against his skin for the slightest of mistakes.

Like the family resemblance wasn’t there to remind Neil that he might have escaped the Lord, but he still was not free of the name.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised.” Seth sits on the sink top, probably soaking his jeans with a puddle of water, and Riko can barely look sideways at him through red eyes. “You’re so emotionally stunted, you probably would have had a heart attack if he said the L word.”

“You’re the one saying, ‘L word’,” Riko snaps back. He knows it’s weak.

Seth doesn’t talk. Doesn’t try to push about why this matters, or why Riko can’t cope with being someone’s brother when he already is.

Maybe he knows. Maybe Seth has seen enough in the past year to know how important this is, or maybe he just doesn’t care.

 _That’s a lie and you know it_. Riko scowls at his reflection and the little voice, running the water cold to splash his eyes. When he is done, he turns to stand before Seth, arms crossed. “Why are you following me? Shouldn’t you be lying to your teachers about where your parents are?”

“No. I’m failing already. They’re probably just going to hold me back.”

That makes Riko pause. He doesn’t want to ask; he _doesn’t_ , but then his mouth opens, and he asks, “Why are you failing? You’re not stupid.”

“And you’re not emotional, yet here you are.”

Riko slaps his arm. It’s more of a reminder than a response. “You helped me with my calculus.”

“I helped with some sort of subtraction,” Seth corrects. He is very close, Riko realizes. “But that’s simple. Even you know how to do that.”

Riko is very aware that Seth is redirecting the conversation. For once, he does not care to chase the lead. It is not compelling enough to unravel, and right now, he doesn’t need more questions. More heavy emotion and tangled hurt.

He needs subtraction.

Except Riko is bad with math, so instead, he adds Seth’s mouth to the list of problems he has and pulls the taller figure down, into a kiss.

Seth has nice legs. Riko knows this from sight, but he also knows from the way they hold Riko, tight at his waist. Securing. Seth looms over him, too tall and too much, just the way Riko likes. There is nothing easy about the way they fit together; they have to fight for it. Riko has to fight to hold onto the counter to keep himself upright, and Seth has to fight not to fall off the edge of the sink.

It's a good fight, Riko thinks, and that is why he likes it. It’s not Seth ( _it is_ ) and it’s not his personality ( _it really is_ ), it’s just the thrill of the fight that they can both walk away from, with a little less anger and a little more resolution.

Seth particularly likes Riko’s back. After half a year of this, Riko is convinced, by the way Seth slides a hand up his spine at every opportunity. By the way that Seth does so now, hiking Riko’s shirt up as his fingers trace an odd path.

This is fine, because Riko enjoys Seth’s legs, and he takes every opportunity to touch them like he does now, hands pressing against jeans like he could feel the skin beneath. They—

—are probably going too far, for being in the school bathroom.

Riko pulls back, irritated, again reminded that he could be anywhere else. Seth snorts. “Your face is going to stick like that one day, and then who’s going to want you?”

“You,” Riko snaps back, half instinct and half smugness.

It’s true, but he really shouldn’t have said it.

Not when Seth pauses, his gaze searching, a question in his brown eyes. His hand still hasn’t left Riko’s back and this is absolutely not the time for questions or revelations or anything approaching _a confession_ , so Riko slams the lid shut on everything and pulls back, straightening his shirt.

“I need to get back.”

Seth doesn’t argue. He kicks one foot up to the sink like he is lounging on a sunny lawn and Riko _itches_ , wants to turn back—

—but he instead throws the bathroom door open and walks right back out.

Neil gives Riko a knowing look when he appears in the classroom. He doesn’t say anything, and the meeting ends so soon that Riko is suspicious of luck working in his favor.

As they walk out, Neil hangs back, a step behind Ichirou, voice low. “You don’t have to be. If you don’t want to.”

Ah.

Riko looks sideways at Neil—at the strange child that was always like a pet to his family; an appropriated thing, thrown into a room to be forgotten at night and dragged into the sun solely for punishment. Riko considers the way Neil skips class with him and always walks a few steps behind. The way Neil had memorized the layout of the school and walked Riko to class for almost an entire month, before he was content that Riko knew where to go.

Neil should not want to be part of this family or associated with them. He shouldn’t even _be_ with Ichirou and Riko. He should be with his uncle, on the other side of the world, in a green place where everything is as soft as he is, despite all the war and violence that has marked it.

“No,” Riko says, because he can’t quite say what Neil did; not yet. “I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhhhh idk how often i'll update this but i figured it would be easy to collect all the bits via ao3?? in case anyone cares???


	5. Prep and Research

Half the underclassmen are gone for a field trip and Seth is bored. Not because Riko is gone or because he’d normally spend lunch doing more interesting things.

Anyway. Seth finds Neil at a table by himself, one leg propped up on the bench and his chin on his knee. Seth drops his tray onto the table across from him and cracks open a water bottle.

“What are you doing?”

Neil doesn’t even look up. “Research.”

“Research for what?” Seth starts to drink. Wonders if Riko is bitching about the sun, wherever he is.

Neil looks Seth dead in the eye and says, “Anal.”

Seth chokes on his drink. He coughs until the water burns his nose and he glares at Neil, struggling to breathe through croaking gasps. “What the _fuck_ , Josten?! Did I _ask_ —”

“You kind of did,” Neil points out. He slaps his notebooks shut and shoves it into his backpack.

Seth snorts. He tries for sarcasm, because his throat is killing him, and he doesn’t want to betray anything he hasn’t, already. “Wow. Real sexy, smart mouth.”

“That’s what Andrew calls me,” Neil says, and Seth thinks he might be dead. “Prep is sexy. And necessary. Anyway, it’s the thought that counts. That, and lube.”

This is it. This is, Seth thinks, how he ends up arrested and in jail. He is two seconds away from strangling Neil just to get him to stop talking. About _anal_. In the middle of the cafeteria.

“Whatever it is you’re doing, you need to get a move on with Riko,” Neil says suddenly. “He’s pissed lately—”

“Which is different _how_ ,” Seth begins, finally able to unstick his tongue enough to speak, but Neil barrels on.

“—and I know it’s not that you don’t want to. Whatever you’re dealing with, if it’s just nerves or not knowing what to do, deal with it. You’re not going to be happy if you don’t.”

Neil takes his backpack without further comment and Seth stares down at his tray. He suddenly isn’t very hungry anymore.

It takes three minutes for him to sigh harshly and toss his lunch in the trash. As he leaves, he slams the cafeteria door open and says, “ _Fuck_.”

* * *

Riko is pissed when he gets home. Seth knows this because he is already there, having given Neil a ride home and lingered for a while.

Ichirou is in the kitchen. He already made dinner; it’s stowed in the fridge and the rice is in the cooker. “I would ask you to make sure they eat,” he said, “but something tells me you won’t have much more luck.”

So, Ichirou left to take Neil and Andrew into the city as a celebration, because Neil improved his time on the track and Ichirou wanted to buy something anyway.

Which leaves Seth in the house, uncharacteristically trusted, with Ichirou only promising to text Riko when they’re headed back.

He also said _don’t break anything_ , and the vaguely ill expression he wore made Seth think the guy was restraining himself from adding something else.

Seth is lounging on the sofa when the lock jerks and Riko slams the door open.

Riko is flushed. He looks like he hiked back from school and wasn’t just dropped off. His black hair is plastered to his forehead and his mouth is twisted into a silent snarl. There is a glint in his eyes when he finds Seth.

“You look like shit,” Seth says cheerfully.

Riko slams the door _shut_. “Fuck you. I didn’t realize trash could talk.”

“You would know.”

“What the fuck are you even doing here? Where—”

“City, remember? He probably ditched them at the theater so fast they didn’t even have to pretend to go in. Think they’re fucking in an alley?”

Riko bristles, but the flush on his cheeks is plum-red and deep.

There’s the energy, again. That static crackle between them, like rubbing socks along carpet just for the shock.

“Rude,” Riko growls, and Seth just chuckles. _Rude._

They _are_ rude. Riko is rude, with his twisted mouth and constant irritation. His state of perpetual anger. Seth is just as bad, coasting through life saying the worst things, pissing people off and snapping just as soon as he gets the chance.

Well. There’s been less of that outward anger lately, but they’ve been directing it toward each other. Like mirrors. It always ends up one way—

—like this, Riko dropping his backpack with a thud and shuffle, jerking Seth’s collar almost to choking before he slams him back onto the couch. Riko climbs onto him, still sweaty and disheveled, and _this_ is what Seth enjoys about them.

Riko doesn’t pretend he’s not already messy. He acts like he’s above it; like it doesn’t matter that his hair is damp, or his clothes stick to his skin. Like he deserves silk, but he could do this here on the couch, too, no reservations.

“This supposed to be my punishment?” Seth smirks. He has found that Riko’s weight on him is perfect; substantial enough to make a difference, light enough to be tantalizing. He always wants to hold Riko down. Feel the center of his weight on his body.

“No. You’ll know what that is.”

Riko leans down and it’s funny, how their first move is always a kiss. It may be messy and there might be tongue and teeth and fingers twisted in hair, but it’s a kiss. It is the simplest exchange, softer than most other things, and for all their rough edges, they always come back to this.

They do, and then Riko’s weight shifts, hips and legs and one smooth motion against Seth’s lower body. He always does this, a rolling drag, as silky as the fabric of the shirts he wears. Like he _is_ silk, smooth and unblemished.

He’s not. Even as Riko ruts against him, Seth slips a hand under his shirt and feels the faint bumps on Riko’s right shoulder. The barely-there scars intertwined with a tattoo, not covering up but married so well to distract. Just another pretty thing twisted around something darker and jagged.

Seth has memorized the curl of the dragon on Riko’s arm and the scatter of cherry blossom petals, shoulder and chest and just a fraction of collarbone. He could trace it out onto paper with his eyes closed.

Riko starts to work with Seth’s jeans and this is the moment Seth rights himself. He pushes up onto his elbows, prepared, and Riko tilts backward with a startled blink.

“You look like you’re going to pass out. What, did you actually get some sun today?” Seth shoves him back; enjoys the little fire in Riko’s eyes at the push.

They have a rule. A word. _Stop_ ends everything. All other things—hits, kicks, slaps—those are different. It’s the _stop_ that brings the world to a lurching halt.

Seth hasn’t heard it, yet. Riko has never said it.

Riko’s lip curls. “What were you doing before I came home? Stealing jewelry to pay for your precious shitty truck? Or jerking off?”

Seth snorts. “Be creative. No one in this household would wear _jewelry_.”

“You haven’t spent the holidays with us.”

Riko’s smirk is a little too pleased. Seth rolls his eyes and tears Riko’s pants down. They’re so tight they almost don’t budge, but he has strength on his side. He does not consider they might tear until they are off, and then, he doesn’t really care either way. He thinks Riko would like it if they tore.

It’s one thing entirely to _research_ , like Neil said, and another to find himself faced with a nearly-undressed Riko, expectantly waiting for something to happen.

Seth is good at bullshit, though. He is very good at making himself be one thing, for others or himself, and this is just like that, so it shouldn’t be difficult. Or so he tells himself. He repeats that thought as he discards Riko’s shirt, and then he repeats it faster when he pulls Riko’s stupid expensive briefs off and lets them fall to the floor.

“You’re suspiciously energetic,” Riko mutters, but the acidity in his tone is overshadowed by the heat in his gaze. Unconscious or not, he stretches his arms back toward the arm of the couch, and Seth has to remember not to forget what he’s doing in favor of staring at the perfect arch of Riko’s body.

“How the fuck is it suspicious? I would have already fucked anyone else by now,” Seth replies, because it is true, and he probably should not say anything about it, but he already did.

Riko’s eyes narrow. “Oh? And what does that mean?”

“Mean’s you’re slow,” Seth says shortly, and that’s a _lie_. It is possibly the most pointless lie he has ever told, but he doesn’t really care.

He realizes then that he forgot what he needed is three feet away in his backpack, and Riko must notice his glance, because he hums lowly and turns to his side. “Go get it, then. I need a drink.”

“I’m not going to fuck you if you’re drunk,” Seth says automatically.

Riko pauses.

This is probably not good. Probably, but Riko doesn’t seem any less interested and Seth has to _really_ remind himself to pay attention. Riko stands and tilts his head, curious. “Is that an anyone else thing, too? Or am I just special?”

“You really have that low of an opinion of me?”

Another pause, but Riko drops it, because he knows as well as Seth does what that implies. He shrugs and trails off to the kitchen, walking as if it doesn’t matter that he’s _completely naked_ and they are supposed to be having sex.

This might as well be how things happen, Seth thinks, because nothing fucking else about their whatever-the-hell-it-is has been normal, either.

Riko reappears with two glasses. He drinks his wine in one gulp and Seth doesn’t even reach for his glass. He pulls Riko in instead, to taste it from his lips, because it tastes _better_ this way. It’s nicer to chase the sweet-bitter tang on Riko’s tongue than from a shitty glass.

Also, he needs to pull Riko into his lap for this to work.

Once Riko is settled—and distracted—Seth slides a hand around his waist. Finds the curve of his ass and slides his fingers down, teasing as much as exploring. Riko’s breath catches, but he doubles down, grinding against Seth’s leg like he wants a repeat of their first time.

Seth is more interested in something new. He uses his free hand to hold Riko by his hip, and _that_ is distracting enough to almost throw off his entire plan. It does distract him enough to push Riko back onto the cushions, interested in the angle it puts him at, even more interested in the way it exposes the line of his hip.

It takes a good second for Riko to realize that Seth’s finger is circling around his hole, but when he does, it is a very glorious moment. Seth has the absolute privilege of watching Riko’s blush deepen, his eyes widening a little as he looks toward Seth.

Riko sputters when he asks, “What are—you—”

“You know the word,” Seth mumbles. He’s given up trying to pay attention to his tone of voice.

“I d—do,” Riko grinds out. “ _Fuck_ —do you always—always—”

“What?”

“If you don’t get to it, I’m going to kick you out and take care of this myself,” Riko snaps.

Seth snorts, but he moves back to give himself room to work. “I’d love to see that. Really.”

“I’m sure you w—” Riko’s snide reply dissolves into a choked gasp, and this—

— _this_ is new.

The feel is new, at least. The way Riko is tight around him; so tight, Seth considers pulling back to make sure nothing is wrong.

It’s not that Seth hasn’t used his hands, before. Just that he’s never done this to another guy. To someone like Riko, who _demands_ and _takes_ and pushes as hard as he is pushed.

It’s kind of hot.

_Okay, very hot._

Riko pants and his hand curls around Seth’s unoccupied wrist. “Fucking move, asshole.”

“Don’t talk to yourself that way.” Seth smirks and ignores Riko’s heated glare. He has other things he’d rather look at, like the angle of Riko’s hip, which has been calling to him for a while, now. He gives in and leans in, curious.

There’s another little hitch when Seth leans in close enough. Riko shivers, maybe because Seth’s breath is tickling him, and then the shiver is a shudder as Seth sucks against the skin stretched taut over bone.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Riko hisses, his hand tight on Seth’s hair, the tug sharp.

 _That’s_ good. Very good, and Seth nearly says as much, so he’s glad his mouth is occupied. He doesn’t have time to explain or understand why he likes this so much—why he likes Riko, here on the couch with his legs spread and his skin already sticky with sweat.

If he turned his head, Seth knows he would be looking at Riko’s dick, and as much as he’s curious about having it in his mouth, he’s not prepared for whatever that entails. It’s taken some time just to work up to this, and he had to have a full-blown crisis in the middle of the cafeteria to even start figuring out how.

Riko’s hand tightens and when he speaks, it’s so choked Seth almost checks to make sure there’s nothing in his mouth. “I’m—gonna need you—need you to back off or hurry up.”

That’s…surprising.

“Were you horny all day?” Seth slows nearly to a stop. Remember to add a finger, just to stretch, and revels in the whine that catches halfway up Riko’s throat. “Or are you just a slut for being played with?”

“Yes.” Riko laughs harshly, the sound almost entirely devoid of air. “When did you become multitalented? Or do you fit the stereotype? Would you only do it in the ass?”

“Shut up, or you’re going to find out I could fuck your mouth just the same.”

“Not the same,” Riko says sweetly, but he does mime zipping his mouth shut.

Riko might mean to be quiet, or not; all Seth knows is that he _doesn’t_. Seth works patiently, half out of inexperience and half out of interest, because he is mesmerized by the way Riko shudders and twists. Riko holds himself down as if there are invisible hands on his body, muscles shaking and clamped-down moans rattling in his bones. His nails bite into Seth’s shoulder, barely reaching, and his breath comes in shorter gasps with every passing moment.

He’s close. Seth knows by the way his dick is red and untouched, and he knows it’s probably killing Riko, but Riko doesn’t seem to care.

Well. He seems to enjoy it, and Seth is aware that he shouldn’t be shocked by that.

“You finally ready, or are you going to shoot your mouth some more?” Seth leans back and take his hand with him. Riko groans in protest, but his eyes focus long enough to balefully fix on Seth.

“I’ve been ready. You’re the one toying around.”

“No toys. Yet.”

Riko scowls, but his red cheeks give him away. Seth—

—Seth pauses. To this point, it is simple. Academic. All of it was easy, because it was just a little removed, but now—now, there is nothing. Just them, and the impending reality.

Riko’s arm dangles off the couch. He must have seen the condoms, because he blindly reaches for one. When he opens it, he holds Seth’s gaze and then moves to roll it on.

Seth nearly misses biting down the noise that threatens to escape him at Riko’s touch. He was more distracted by Riko than he realized, to completely ignore his own need. When Riko finishes, he looks Seth in the eye and then hums. “Okay. No holding back.”

“What?”

Riko rolls his eyes and turns around. He pauses long enough to glance at Seth over his shoulder and say, “You did all that work, so don’t hold back.”

Seth has a perfect view of Riko bending over, the smooth dip in his back and his tattoos fully on display. This is something he has seen many times in his mind, but it’s more than a little different to see it in person. To have Riko there, loose and ready and _wanting_.

“I’m not going to break you,” Seth says, and he’s not sure if it’s a reassurance or a warning.

Riko just looks back. “I told you already. _Please do._ ”

So, maybe he has the okay, and they have a failsafe, and Seth is _very_ tired of waiting.

He doesn’t hold back.

Seth only pauses long enough to watch himself line up against Riko, and then he slides in so fast he forgets how to think. Riko is _tight_ , even after everything, and there’s a line at his ass where the skin is stretched, and Seth thinks he might be able to see how he fills Riko, and _that’s_ better than perfect.

And Riko just _moans_ like he was born for it, his arms shaking and hands curling around the arm of the sofa. “ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, body shaking. “Fuck, Seth, _yes_ —”

Probably the ego boost is very bad, but Seth cannot bring himself to give a shit. He only cares about making Riko moan some more, because it is a _very_ pretty noise, and he said not to hold back.

Seth moves like he would halfway through, and that is probably what does them both in, because the mindless slap of skin is only punctuated by Riko’s choked gasps and the cursing that tumbles through his lips. He doesn’t just take, either; he throws himself back against Seth with every thrust like he really does want to break himself, shoulders straining as he tries to hold onto the couch.

Seth can’t remember if anything ever felt this good, or if he’s just making things up because he’s been alone for a while, but he thinks it might be _Riko_ ; might be the way Riko is half-sobbing as he throws himself into it, his _fuck_ and _more_ coming on thin breaths.

It’s not a conscious decision Seth makes, to slide his hand up to Riko’s throat. He only knows he loves the sounds Riko makes and he wants to feel them against his palm. Only when he moves his hand there, Riko pushes into it and Seth realizes Riko wants _more._ Wants pressure.

Of course, Seth doesn’t care what it is that makes Riko fall apart; he only cares enough to give it to him. He is careful with how much he presses, but he knows it is right when Riko’s words stutter to an end and his hands on Seth’s legs tremble. They are close—so close—and Riko is a fucking _mess_.

It’s more than just hot, but Seth can’t detail that now, and instead he wraps his free hand around Riko’s already-slick cock. He bites into Riko’s neck and feels the cry that comes out just as he strokes Riko, barely moving his hand three times before Riko is coming all over him, shaking and pushing back into Seth as he does.

Seth expected this, but he did not expect the way it feels—the sudden clench, Riko tightening around him more than he thought possible. Just by the sensation alone, Seth curses into Riko’s shoulder and comes in a burst, his eyes falling shut against the assault of white light that follows. He _knows_ he hasn’t felt anything like this before; knows he’s never had an orgasm so fierce that he can remember. Not like this, with Riko panting and still twitching, grinding back into Seth like there is nothing painful about pushing the sensations far past the end.

They’re stuck together, because of sweat or something else, and Seth doesn’t feel the need to pull away. He stays, his palm smoothing over Riko’s spent dick until Riko is pushing him away with a shaky hand.

“ _Now_ , I can pass out,” Riko mumbles.

For the first time, Seth genuinely, freely, laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone take away my goddamn laptop


	6. Cursing

“Oh, please. Hit me.”

Riko glares. Most times, it at least warns Seth to shut up, but today, Seth is asking for a good slap. Literally.

Just because he asked, Riko abstains. It takes all of his willpower.

Anyway, Neil interrupts their standoff as he passes by, very obviously having nearly inhaled his lunch in an attempt to spend most of his free time with Andrew, who waits impatiently at the doors to the front lawn.

Neil takes all of two seconds and seven words to create chaos. “Don’t forget, Ichirou isn’t home this weekend.”

Of course, then Neil leaves, like the chaotic little twink that he is. Riko almost trips him, but his legs are tangled with Seth’s stupidly long ones.

“Gone again? He’s been gone a lot this month,” Seth submits.

He’s asking something, and Riko thinks he knows what, but he won’t answer. Not unless Seth stops being a fucking loser and _asks_.

There is a weighty pause and then Seth leans back in his chair, contemplation written across his face. He opens his mouth and says, “I’m working on the truck this weekend. You could come over, though.”

It’s…not the question Riko was waiting for.

He does slap Seth.

* * *

One of the things Seth is stupidly proud of is his shitty truck.

Well, it’s not exactly shitty, but it isn’t the caliber of vehicle Riko is used to being in or around. It is, according to Seth, a 1968 shortbed Ranger. Riko only knows that it’s a Ford and a truck, and arguably the best thing about it is the paint Seth has set away for when his endless restoration work is done.

The color Seth has settled on—although Matt has claimed that it changes every three months—is a soft blue the color of the sky.

Anyway, Riko shows up without telling Seth, packed in the back of Andrew’s car as Neil taps his fingers to the music Andrew grudgingly lowered.

“Call if you need me,” Neil says. Andrew snorts, as if he is aware how bad Neil is at checking and using his phone. “I’ll leave the ringer on.”

“Will you?” Andrew mocks, turning the dial on the radio up. The volume increases.

Riko rolls his eyes and throws his backpack onto his shoulder. “The day I ask you to save me is the day I royally fuck up.”

“Royally is right.” Neil smirks and Riko purposely slams the car door a little harder than he should. Neil can deal with Andrew’s bitching.

This is how Riko ends up examining the not-garage. It’s obviously self-constructed; the wood is bare, and the metallic roof does the bare minimum to protect the interior. It’s something, though, like everything Seth says or does.

It takes about two minutes for Seth to emerge from his trailer, carelessly combing his hair back with one hand and holding a glass in the other. He’s wearing a stupid white sleeveless shirt that’s nearly see-through, and in place of his usual black jeans, he is wearing pants that are just as horrifically faded and worn.

Anyway, Riko doesn’t care about Seth’s clothes. He is more interested in remembering why he hangs around Seth. Reasons like the curve of muscles in Seth’s arms, or the lazy glint of his piercings in the sun.

“Trying to sneak in?” Seth passes the glass, his eyes already drawn elsewhere, to the mess of tools by his truck.

Riko examines the glass. It doesn’t smell like much, but the lemonade is sweet and sour, a perfect balance that’s tart on the tongue. He restrains himself from humming in pleasure and instead sips at it, one hand in his pocket as he follows Seth.

There’s a chair in the garage. Seth pulls it out, half in the sun and half out. Riko snorts. “When’s the last time you used that?”

“I never have. Other people do.”

Just like that, Riko grips the glass tighter and struggles not to groan in frustration. This is not something he wants to talk about—or rather, not talk about.

Allison.

It’s more than just her, though. Her name is just one Riko can place in a box that holds all of _before_ ; all of Seth before they met, when Riko didn’t know him and didn’t care at all. The box stays firmly shut; Seth doesn’t open it and Riko hasn’t taken a hammer to the locks. Yet.

To be honest, he doesn’t want to. He’s tired of throwing himself at things because he wants to see what’s inside. Because he just has to know; has to pick everything apart and reassure himself it’s not going to bite him in the ass. Ensure it’s not more dangerous than him.

Seth is different. He keeps his box buried six feet deep, and he has words and silent reassurances that he won’t dig it up.

It’s just Riko’s itchy fingers that won’t let him go.

Seth doesn’t seem to notice that Riko is thinking about things, or maybe he does and lets it go. Whatever the case, Riko gingerly sits on the folding chair and watches Seth work.

Strange.

“What is?” Seth leans over the truck, the hood propped open over his head, sandy hair falling out of place.

Riko frowns into his glass. Considers misdirecting, but—

— _but_ , he is lounging on a lawn chair and watching his _not_ boyfriend work on an old truck, and there is no homework to worry about and no looming threat in a mansion behind him, so he opens his mouth and speaks.

“I never saw anyone working on the cars. Or on a car, ever. Even when something happened, it just disappeared and reappeared in perfect condition.”

“Rich people problems.” Seth says it without real venom; he leans down and plucks a wrench from the faded red toolbox at his feet. It’s almost pink with age. Riko considers buying him a pink one, for Christmas.

Wait. He is _not_ thinking about Christmas. Or the f word.

“Maybe our cars just didn’t break as often. They weren’t forty years old.”

“Not that old,” Seth corrects, waving his wrench blindly at his shoulder while he leans further. Riko props his feet on the toolbox and glances at Seth’s ass. That is what he came for, anyway.

“What, you can’t do math, now? There goes my tutoring.” Riko bites the edge of his glass. Runs his tongue along the rim. Thinks that Seth is irritated at something inside the truck; his tone is gradually thinning. Tense.

“I’ll be sure to leave my calculus to you, in the future.”

_He said it first._

That f-word. Riko casts his glance about to find somewhere to set his glass. He manages to find an empty spot; a section of the workbench shoved up against the garage wall that is free. He leaves the glass there and wonders if it will leave a ring on the untreated wood.

There was a spot in the garage. A little not-circle beneath the exhaust, at the far corner of the garage with the convertibles that were rarely used. Riko would kneel there, cold hands against hard concrete, and count each passing second. Hold his breath.

Listen to the screams and yelling above.

Seth curses. Riko looks up from the rings on his fingers and contemplates the taller teenager, curious.

_And why don’t I hate that?_

Seth curses a lot. He really does, but it never seems to land. Perhaps it’s the way he says the words, like they are useless pause fillers or empty letters. Maybe it’s because there is no movement following the cursing. Seth is static; he is something chained, expletives falling from his lips and onto the floor around him in a pool of anger and blood.

There’s no risk that Seth will hit Riko.

Well. Unless Riko asks.

“Fuck damn it,” Seth hisses. A beat later, his wrench clangs into the toolbox. That beat matters.

Riko snorts. “Creative. Like Cards Against Humanity with only expletives.”

“You’re hilarious.” There are a few more angry noises from the truck. Creaking and the sound of metal slipping and hitting things it probably shouldn’t. “Shitfuck—”

“Oh, my favorite pet name.”

Seth finally pauses to shoot a glare at Riko over his shoulder, eyes narrowed. Riko raises his eyebrows.

He thinks he communicates _come here_ well enough, but Seth persists anyway, closing the hood of his truck and wiping his hands on the oversized, black mechanic’s shirt that hangs open over his chest.

It’s when Seth moves around toward the trunk that Riko follows, amused, and watches Seth sit. Watches Seth beckon, eyes half-lidded and mouth twisted in displeasure that is really only surface-deep.

 _Don’t have to ask me twice,_ Riko thinks, and he loves the summons a little too much; likes the crook of Seth’s fingers and the reminder of how they felt inside of him just a few days ago.

Riko swings his legs over Seth’s, amused at the quickly-buried flash of surprise on Seth’s face. He settles into place and wonders at how familiar it feels, leaning back against the firm muscle of Seth’s thighs and feeling hands slide against his waist.

There are thumbs digging into Riko’s hips when he lazily drapes his arms over Seth’s shoulders and leans in. He waits until he is close enough to feel the brush of Seth’s breath to say, “See? Isn’t this more entertaining than whatever is under the hood?”

Seth pulls him in. His teeth pull at Riko’s lip and he rides the wave of heat that burns through his chest; he lets it spread through his bones, a molten burn that crackles and stretches. Riko pushes into the hands holding him, scrapes his barely-there nails against the back of Seth’s neck.

He is very entertained, but then Seth leans back and arches an eyebrow—the one with the piercing, _always_ , annoying—and he says, “I don’t know. I’d have to compare.”

“Fair,” Riko says immediately, because he is irritated that Seth stopped and he would rather get past all this talking. “But I’m telling you right now, I’m cheaper to fuel.”

Seth snorts. “A likely story.”

He gives up talking, after that. Riko makes sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk where i was going with this but w/e i guess  
> (probably the next chapter will be a .5 one including riko and seth uhhh having sex right there because they're *fucking idiots*. literally


	7. Cursing [Your Name]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6.5 for the smut

It’s pleasant outside. There’s a faint breeze and the afternoon sun is high in the sky. The trees that line the street and surround the back of Seth’s trailer rustle softly, whispering.

It’s pleasant inside, too. Maybe the trees are gossiping about how Riko has his tongue halfway down Seth’s throat, straddling him in the back of an old truck where anyone could see.

There is something uniquely satisfying about sliding his hand into Riko’s pants. Seth follows the curve of Riko’s spine, skipping over every faint bump, thumbs pressing into the little dips above his ass. Seth once said it was evidence of all the hands that held Riko in the same place; Riko had shoved him into a wall, ignoring the way Seth’s head hit it, and bit Seth’s lip until it bled.

Simple mathematics tells Seth it is usually only three minutes before Riko tires of grinding against Seth’s leg. He works himself up like this most times, like he thinks there will ever be a day he won’t just strip down. Seth considers it would be a fun experiment, to see if he could get Riko off without undressing him. An experiment for another time, maybe.

Right now, Riko yanks at Seth’s shirt and the overwork fabric tears with a brilliant ripping sound. Seth frowns enough that Riko leans back, unamused, and tosses it over the side of the truck. “We need to buy you clothes that don’t fall apart.”

“Or you could try _not_ fucking shredding them every chance you get.”

“More fun this way.” Riko grins wickedly and leans in again.

More fun. Seth considers the truck and his abandoned adjustments. The job he works at hellish hours of the morning, dragging his body into school just as he’s done with the convenience store.

This is absolutely more fun.

Riko likes things he can dig into, Seth thinks. It’s why Seth’s back still has faint scratches form the last time, and he thinks they’ll stick around for as long as Riko is around. Seth might end up with a few scars just from Riko, in places where Riko accidentally bites too hard or throws Seth into a locker without making sure the fucking thing doesn’t have sharp edges.

It’s fine. They both have sharp edges, anyway. Nothing new.

It occurs to Seth that he doesn’t have anything with him, but Riko is very obviously not interested in stopping.

This could be an opportunity.

Riko is light. It hardly takes any effort to unseat him and roll him over onto the bed of the truck—and _that’s_ a pretty sight, Seth thinks, Riko’s blue-black hair out of place and his irritated mouth red from kissing. “This is hardly comfortable.”

“Oh, but it was fine for me to lie down?”

“Whatever. You have cushion.”

Seth slides his hands over Riko’s ass and leans in close to his ear. “So do you.”

Riko’s growl is only halfhearted. Seth isn’t stupid; he knows Riko likes being manhandled, at least where Seth is concerned.

Which includes being undressed.

Seth takes his revenge when he tosses Riko’s stupid expensive black clothes over the edge of the trunk. Riko kicks him in the chest, but it’s not enough to move Seth. Riko probably _could_ if he tried, but he isn’t specifically trying, so Seth takes the pissed reaction for what it is. Encouragement.

This is another one of those things that Seth academically knows how to do, but he’s completely new to the practicality of it, and he suddenly isn’t sure whether it’s a good idea.

Too late, now.

Seth tosses Riko’s underwear and throws his legs over his shoulders. The surprise on Riko’s face is entirely worth the twisting feeling of uncertainty in his gut. Riko’s mouth twists around _what_ , but the word never leaves his mouth. It dies somewhere between being thought and Seth leaning down to run his tongue along Riko’s ass.

“Fuck,” Riko hisses, his nails scraping against the truck bed while he searches for something to hold onto. He might fail spectacularly, but Seth doesn’t mind. He is too busy figuring out that Riko enjoys being rimmed.

Well. Arguably, Riko enjoys anything that has to do with his ass, but Seth thinks there might be a sliding scale. He thinks he’ll have to assemble one later and use it to show Riko how to plot functions, just to be a dick.

Riko’s heel digs into Seth’s back. His legs shake a little, hands ineffectively pressing against the truck and fingers paler than usual with pressure. Seth considers that Riko might be dressed, but Seth might just test getting him off without technically touching him.

“ _Damn_ it,” Riko whines, twisting, every muscle in his body straining. “Fuck, Seth, _move_ already—”

Seth backs away, tapping his fingers along Riko’s shin. Riko glares up at him, cheeks red and hair a disheveled mess. “What the fuck?”

“You said to move.”

Riko kicks his face, this time. Seth laughs and takes the hit, rolling with it, more interested in the twitching mess of Riko’s dick.

This is fun. _Actually_ fun. Not that Seth has never had an interested partner before, but—

—but, something about the way Riko responds is different. The way he opens so readily and bites back just as hard, willing to take but ready to give at every turn. Riko couldn’t be passive if he tried, and that is almost as entertaining to Seth as the sex.

Seth decides to be nice, just for a little while, because he is fairly certain Riko will blow him if he gives in a little. Still, he doesn’t give in too much; Seth leans over and traces Riko’s mouth with his fingers, questioning. Riko opens obediently and the image is almost enough for Seth to give up and hunt for some lube.

At least, until Riko bites his fingers. Seth rolls his eyes and withdraws, running a finger along Riko’s cock as he goes. Riko nearly jumps at the contact, his back arching off the truck. “ _Fuck_ you, Gordon—”

“You first,” Seth challenges, and then he slides his fingers in and watches Riko choke on his words, a gasp mangled in his throat.

Riko is gone. Far gone, his legs shaking and pulling Seth closer, head tilted back to expose the wonderful line of his neck. All Seth has to do is lean over and mark him, and he does, teeth pulling skin and his tongue following after every bite. Riko’s nails scratch over Seth’s arms and leave stinging paths behind, but the promise of the burn is just as sweet as the moans that float out of Riko’s mouth and toward Seth’s ears. Seth can feel the shudder build from the base of Riko’s spine, crawling through him as the burn of pleasure rises above everything else.

It felt fantastic to be inside Riko before, but it is wonderful just the same to watch Riko come, his red mouth parted on a gasp and his fingers digging into Seth’s skin. The choked noise of pleasure he makes is more beautiful than any song, and Seth wants to play it on repeat in his mind as many times as he can.

It’s nice outside, Seth thinks, as he watches Riko pant. But it’s nice inside, too. He doesn’t think he could ever choose.

It’s a good thing he doesn’t have to. Riko is bossy enough for the both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> less talking, more action - riko(?)
> 
> anyway this is a thing i guess, enjoy


	8. Use[full]

Riko only happens to be in the office because he came in late to class (and was wearing a crop top, but the teacher only frustratedly claimed that wasn’t the point). Riko sits with one foot on the shitty plastic chair, his finger tracing the jagged cracks around the bolt where the leg is and listens to the office workers gossip.

Most of the kids in the office are suck-ups. They are the unique kind of teacher’s pet that no one really likes, unlike Matt, who is both popular and friendly. The office students are vaguely disliked, probably because of things like what they’re doing right now.

“Did you hear? He’s not going to graduate,” one of the girls says, tossing her honey-colored ponytail over her shoulder. It doesn’t match her eyebrows, or her eyelashes.

There’s another girl behind a computer, eyes faintly glazed as she scrolls down a page. “Oh? Which one?”

“Which one do you think?” Ponytail, Riko decides to call her, snorts. “God. They should just kick him out. It’s not like he matters that much, anyway. What’s school going to do for him, other than give him free food?”

The girl at the computer hums halfheartedly. She scrolls some more. She might be on Facebook; her interest is clearly elsewhere. “I dunno. He’s kind of cute, right? I mean, he was dating—”

“ _He_ was dating _her_ ,” Ponytail scoffs, as if this explains everything. Riko hates that he knows what she means. “Anyway, it’s not like he’s been doing much, lately. I hear he’s just leeching off better people. You know, like Dan Wilds?”

The number of people they could be talking about thins significantly, much like Riko’s patience.

“Dan’s nice,” Computer girl says. She pokes her tongue out, awkwardly stretching gum. “It’s not like it matters, anyway. At least he’s not being thrown off people in the cafeteria, anymore.”

“At least the fights were interesting.” Ponytail laughs, but it sounds discordant to Riko’s ears.

Interesting _._ As if Seth is only around to interest someone else. _That’s not his job,_ Riko wants to say; he wants to pull the girl by her stupid ponytail and whisper, _that’s mine._

Someone comes to let Riko into the principal’s office. He shoots a glare at Ponytail, but she doesn’t seem to notice him. He is pissed the rest of the morning.

* * *

Seth leans back against the tree. His eyes are closed, and one arm is thrown over his brow, as if to beat off the sun. It wouldn’t make much of a difference, given how tanned he is already.

Riko imagines Seth leaning over his truck like he did two weeks ago. Almost wishes they were back there.

But wishes are stupid, and Riko isn’t stupid.

“Are you sleeping?” Riko asks, incredulous. He only notices because of the way Seth’s face is relaxed, the usual line of tension at the corner of his mouth gone.

Riko has seen Seth asleep a grand total of two times. Once, when Seth first visited the apartment, and the other, when Riko left Seth’s trailer after blowing him in thanks for being rimmed in the back of Seth’s truck.

Seeing this makes Riko’s chest do something peculiar. Tighten, perhaps. Awkwardly flex.

“I was,” Seth mumbles. He turns onto his side, sandy hair falling over his face. His arm comes to rest by Riko’s leg, curved just around Riko’s ass in a way that would be inviting or possessive coming from anyone else.

Except Seth is clearly tired and his inhibitions are almost gone; void, canceled by the lazy heat of the sun and the afternoon tranquility of the front lawn of the school.

Riko can see the silver glint of Seth’s eyebrow piercing. The twin rings on his nose, on the same side. Perfect little pieces of metal Riko wants to run his finger over and explore, just a little.

“I hear you’re going to flunk.”

_Fuck._

He says it, and he shouldn’t have, but he does, and now, he can’t take it back. So, he does what he always does, and he digs his grave deeper.

In for a penny.

“What is it?” Riko continues, his tongue rolling down the hill he’s dying on. “You just afraid of having to be a real fucking adult? Scared of being like dad? Or are you just sticking around for jailbait?”

Seth uncurls. Or, rather, he curls into a different form. Something with harder edges. This—

— _this,_ Riko does not like. He knows it and it’s familiar; he can handle it, knows how. But he doesn’t like it. Likes it less from Seth.

But it’s fine, Riko thinks, perhaps a little delirious in his own mind. It’s routine.

“Not everyone has daddy issues.” Seth moves his arm. Pins Riko with a steady brown gaze, maybe asking. Maybe wondering, _does he really want to do this?_

(No, the answer is no, but Riko talks anyway.) He says, “Not everyone. But you do.”

Seth pushes himself upright, long form propped easily on one arm. Riko tries not to look at the sliver of Seth’s side, exposed by the way his shirt rides up. Tries not to let appearances distract him. Pretty things are still just things.

Things are made to be used, anyway.

“What is this actually about?”

Riko scoffs. “Are you psychoanalyzing me? You’ve never been to a day of therapy in your life.”

“You don’t know that.” Seth pulls away, drags his backpack across the ground; maybe he is going to look for a knife to stab Riko with.

Riko snorts (he shouldn’t say anything, he should stop, he’s arguing for no reason) and then more words come tumbling out like an impossible rock slide. “I do. You’ve never seen a shrink in your life, much less touched all that bottled-up shit you have. I doubt your daddy gave a shit. Did you even have a mother?”

“All right. Enough.” It’s supposed to be a signal; their signal. A verbal warning to back off, or at least switch track. Move to punching instead of poking.

Except Riko _can’t_. He cannot stop his mouth and cannot stop the steady spiral of fury and conflict boiling his chest.

He doesn’t even know what he’s angry about, anymore.

“What? Now, enough?” Riko curls his hands in the grass. Lets his fingernails fill with dirt; wonders if this is what it feels like to claw his way into a grave. “God, you’re useless. Do you even care about graduating? Why are you even here? Just to fuck?”

For some reason, everyone picks this exact moment to quiet. Riko can hear his pulse in his ears; can feel the rush of blood humming in his veins. He almost screams just to fill the void (but it can’t be filled, he _knows_ that, and thinking _this_ could is stupid).

(He is not stupid.)

( _Not stupid._ )

Seth pushes himself up. Slings his backpack over his shoulder and shoves his free hand into his pocket. “I’ll see you Monday.”

And he leaves.

* * *

“If you slam one more door, I will skin you alive,” Ichirou says patiently.

Riko blinks, hand on the cabinet door. Bites his cheek and savagely slams the fucker shut.

Ichirou sighs.

* * *

“Want pizza?”

“Shouldn’t you be doing homework? Or your pet monster?”

Neil leans against the doorway, hands in his pockets. His tone is even when he replies, “He is not a monster.”

Riko feels something acid in his throat. It is only Saturday and he hates this; hates the lingering rubble in his head. He wants to shove the rocks away to figure out what he killed in the collapse.

It’s easier not to look, though. Easier to let everything die and turn to dust. Raze it, start over again.

All over again.

“You’re right.” Riko smiles, half-twisted. “He just wants to be.”

“Guess you have that in common.”

It’s a steady observation, but Riko shoots a glare at Neil. Curls his fists into the sheets he lies on.

He thinks about hitting something. Doing something. Anything.

“I’m ordering,” Neil finally says, pushing away from the wall. “You can eat or not.”

* * *

Sunday, Ichirou takes Riko into town and leaves Neil behind for some project he says he has to finish. Riko does not want to leave, but Ichirou doesn’t really give him a choice.

They are in a custom suit shop at four o’clock and Riko is hungry. He is also angry, but that is always true ( _not really, not when I was sleeping next to him_ ) —

—and the intrusion is so intrusive, Riko snarls and punches the closest thing to him.

A mannequin falls to the floor and pops apart in pieces; arms, legs, a head rolling. One hand rocking sideways on the floor. Riko stares down at it and considers the parts.

It occurs to him that someone is staring. He looks up to find Ichirou and somehow, despite all the anger and frustration and endless curled fists, Riko feels a hot blush rise to his cheeks.

Embarrassment. They are not supposed to feel it. They are supposed to hold up their chins and the family name.

It might be understanding in his brother’s eyes that Riko is looking for. Perhaps dismay, or disappointment. That much, Riko is used to.

Ichirou just looks faintly pained before a bemused settle smiles on his lips. He—

— _he’s trying not to laugh._

On second thought, Riko considers simply taking the mannequin stand and shoving it down his brother’s throat.

Ichirou sighs and slides his card across the counter. The man at the register doesn’t even look toward the mannequin as Ichirou says, “My apologies. Teenagers, you understand.”

Riko wants to simmer. Wishes he could cause a scene, but he only lingers by the door and waits for Ichirou to come over.

“Let’s eat.”

“I’m not hungry.” The response is immediate, but Riko’s stomach growls and his flush deepens.

Ichirou is unimpressed. He walks toward the food court, absently smacking Riko’s exposed midriff. “You are. It’s not like you’ll put on any weight, anyway, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Yeah, like I care about my figure.”

It probably comes out sharper than intended. Ichirou just rubs the bridge of his nose and leads the way toward a familiar shitty chain. Burgers.

They never used to have this kind of food. Riko found he loved bacon cheesburgers, once he left with his brother. They used to eat out once a month. It’s harder with school, now. Ichirou’s job.

Ichirou only waits long enough for them to take their order to a table before he dives in, no mercy. Just like a Moriyama.

“So, how did you supposedly fuck things up with Seth?”

Riko bites his french fry so hard his teeth click. He almost grinds the rest into a pulp between his fingers. “We are not discussing my sex life.”

Ichirou sends him a dry look. “I don’t think studying on the couch and lounging at the park constitutes sex, Riko.”

“What?”

This time, Ichirou drops his face into his hands and scrubs over it. When he finishes, he seems weary, but the smile is back. He tries to hide it, but Riko can tell, and he kicks him under the table. “I mean,” Ichirou hisses, kicking back. “It’s not _just_ sex, especially not once you started cuddling and making lunch for him.”

“Technically, _you_ made the lunch.”

“If you’re going to be obstinate, fine. I don’t expect any less.” Ichirou shrugs. “But you’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“For what?” Riko asks, incredulous. “I’m well aware I was integral in his fucking gay awakening. Not that it matters. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. At least I have fun on the way.”

Ichirou’s gaze sharpens.

This might be the first time Riko has seen a trace of before. Of _family_ , lingering in the edges of Ichirou’s dark eyes. The threat in his tense body—except this is not directed at Riko; it’s turned outward. Toward ghosts.

Toward a past he can’t even touch.

Except Ichirou _wants to_ ; wants to fight it and flay it into submission and death, and Riko suddenly finds himself crying over his stupid fucking burger. “God damn it.”

“Yeah,” Ichirou says quietly. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fEeEEEeeELiiinGGGsSSSsS


	9. Over[filled]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~~ this chapter contains a threesome ~~

He really shouldn’t be angry.

Seth has always known he has no real reason to be at school. Classes are easy—they _are_ , when he makes effort to turn in his homework and do well on tests. School isn’t difficult for him, and he could graduate on time if he just puts in the minimum amount of work.

Except recently, the only things on his mind have been useless and stupid, like when he’s supposed to meet up with Riko and how much time they’ll have on the weekend to cram homework after spending too much time trying to make sushi that Seth can never roll.

He is not supposed to think about this. This is useless.

It’s passing time. That’s all. Riko only tolerates him, _buys him sweaters and tangles their fingers together_ , because it’s simple and they can do this and not worry about it or have any problems.

Seth only makes it halfway to his truck before he hears someone calling his name. He struggles not to immediately turn around and look for a pissed-off face and jagged black eyeliner.

“Oh, good.” Matt huffs a little, his jacket askew. “I didn’t want to bother you; I’m sure you’re busy with Riko this weekend—I’m just having issues with my truck. Wondered if you’d have time to check it out.”

“Busy?” His neck itches at the word. “Why would I?”

Matt gives him a squinting kind of look, as if he’s not sure whether Seth is joking. He waits a long moment, then decides to continue. “Right. Well, if you’re not busy, I can drop by this weekend. Sunday?”

Thinking about home only brings back unwarranted memories of being in the truck with Riko. Of lemonade and salt.

“I’ll come over,” Seth says abruptly. “If that works with your mom and—”

“Yeah,” Matt says quickly, waving a hand. “She’s out of town this weekend. Why don’t I pick you up tonight? You can spend the weekend. It’s been a while.”

He’s right. The comment makes him feel a little guilty, but Seth swallows the emotion; forces it down. School has kept them both busy, and besides, Matt has Dan to spend his time with.

Those are excuses, though. Seth shrugs, hiking his backpack up over his shoulder. He wishes he could feel eyes on his back. Know whether to think of the hard pit in his gut as something real, or just another stupid effort to save something that’s long gone.

“Yeah. I’ll be around. Just give me a call.”

* * *

Matt’s truck is nice. Very, very nice. Of course, that’s partly because Seth helped him pick it. They’d made a weekend of it, traveling a half-hour to visit dealerships and lots, finally returning home after a good dinner.

Seth isn’t sure why the trip suddenly comes to mind. Or why it feels nostalgic. He slings his duffel bag onto his shoulder as the lights of Matt’s truck shine through the cracks of his door.

Matt drums his hands on the steering wheel as Seth throws himself in after his bag. “Got everything?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been over.” Seth rolls his eyes and stretches his legs. The truck is newer than his; roomier and in much better condition. He still wouldn’t trade his.

Matt snorts. “You know, for a second there, I forgot we were friends.”

“You never let me forget.”

“Sure. But you don’t have many of us,” Matt says, his smile a little softer. “You’ve been alone a lot lately, you know? It’s my fault, too, I’m sure.”

Matt pulls up to a light and Seth resists the urge to open the car door and jump out. This isn’t a conversation he planned to have, and he is trapped. Matt probably doesn’t mean to make it seem that way, but Seth’s instinct tells him to leave.

He ignores it.

Seth opts for being causal, because there is no reason to be awkward around Matt, and he says, “I have friends. Riko’s a friend.” _And there goes all the casual._

 _Wrong kind of casual,_ he wants to tell himself, but his brain creaks to a halt and Matt just casts a disbelieving look in his direction.

For a snap second, Seth is angry. The look is unwarranted. He wants to tell Matt to shut up. To reserve whatever shit he has to say about Riko. Seth almost repeats Neil’s comments about his brother; something about how he’s a pain in the ass but worth it. Or something.

Matt says, “He is not a friend.”

“Hey—”

“I mean, other than you two constantly screwing each other’s brains out, you, like…talk to him.”

“Talk,” Seth chokes out, because he cannot form a coherent sentence. Not after Matt’s declaration. “What the fuck—”

“Look, I figured you didn’t want to say anything at school,” Matt says, waving his hand vaguely. They are three lights from Matt’s house; it feels like thirty. “But I’m your friend, remember? I don’t give a shit if you’re gay or bi, or whatever. I’m just a little annoyed I wasn’t there to see you realize it.”

Seth is ready to say something about Matt being crazy, but his forming reply is muddled somewhere between Matt suggesting he already knew and suggesting—

— _gay or bi or whatever_ —

— _realizing_ —

— “Oh shit,” Matt gasps as the truck lurches to halt in his driveway. He barely throws it into park before he turns in his seat, eyes wide. “I didn’t miss it!”

Seth punches Matt’s shoulder; it’s a reflex, _a regular thing with Riko_ , but Matt just laughs delightedly and throws his door open. He’s practically bouncing on his heels as Seth storms out.

“Okay, okay,” Matt says soothingly, fumbling for his house key. “So, I assume you two had a fight, which is why you’re not with him this weekend. Did he say something, or did you?”

“What do you think, since you fucking know everything?” Seth snaps.

Matt grins wider and ushers him in, biting his lip. “Okay. I think you’re both terrible at communication, and I’m sure Riko has shit to deal with. I mean, he’s a Moriyama. Anyway, whatever happened, you’re probably telling yourself it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t,” Seth says sharply. “We’re not—anything. Sure, great, we fuck—”

“Please _don’t_ tell me—”

“—but that doesn’t mean we’re fucking dating,” Seth continues, a little louder. He throws his duffel bag toward the middle of the living room floor. “It _doesn’t_ matter.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how to tell you this, but fuck buddies don’t wipe each other’s eyeliner when it’s messy or carry each other’s books because ‘they’re heavy’,” Matt says, his fingers bending in the air.

Seth stares bleakly back at him. “I didn’t say that.”

“You said he was too weak to handle them, and then he said he could handle you, so—”

“Okay, wonderful, you have a great memory,” Seth interrupts, throwing his sneaker at Matt. Matt just laughs and ducks. “Go brag to Andrew. Remind me why the fuck this matters?”

“All right,” Matt says, conciliatory. “So, let’s say it doesn’t matter. Why don’t we test it?”

“Test it?”

They’ve been friends for a while. Seth can tell when Matt shifts—goes from joking and playful to something else. Something Seth doesn’t want to name but knows that he _knows_. Matt shrugs his jacket off like a nasty comment, his smile and the set of his broad shoulders suddenly a little less casual.

 _Casual_ , that’s the word of the week, and Seth is suddenly very aware that he knows _just_ where this is going.

“All right, so. We know your type,” Matt muses, hands in his pockets as he comes to circle Seth.

The pacing makes Seth itchy. It sets him on edge, drags him by the ear—

— _but he’s not mad about it,_ and that’s the goddamn thing, and he wants to chalk it up to frustration and withdrawal because _Riko has an appetite_ , but this is not right.

It can’t be. Not when Matt is his friend and Seth definitely hasn’t ever thought of Matt any other way, even when they’re in the showers and—

— _fuck fuck fuck,_ Seth thinks, because Matt slings an arm over his shoulders and stares into the distance as if he’s contemplating something very important.

“You know what? Neil’s free on Sunday.”

* * *

“This is such a stupid fucking idea,” Seth says for the hundredth time. Or at least, he assumes it’s the hundredth. He hasn’t been counting.

He hasn’t been doing much of anything, other than waiting for his impending doom. Neil apparently has about an hour and a half to kill, not that Seth wants to know, _because it probably has something to do with Riko_ , and Seth is not thinking about Riko because _he doesn’t care_.

Anyway, he fully expects that this is going to end before it begins _or at least once they kiss and he decides not to do anything else_ , so Seth has been lounging on Matt’s couch with a can of coke and a bottle of whiskey. He’s too lazy to mix them.

He might also be only wearing a sleeveless shirt and boxers, and there is a pillow firmly in his lap at the moment. He is not going to get up.

The doorbell rings and Matt swings his legs off the couch. He’s in his underwear, frustratingly blasé about the entire thing, and he leaves the remote behind and Netflix still playing as he goes.

This is surreal. Seth glances down at his hands and wonders. He would break the bottle just to feel the glass, but this is Matt’s house, and he’s not going to make a mess.

Well. Well, Matt answers the door and then Neil comes in, his blue eyes bright and curious, and Seth has an uncomfortable flashback to when they first started being something like friends.

He doesn’t like what his mind comes up with. Memories of Neil’s freckles are not helpful.

“Why am I not surprised?” Neil comes to the couch, but he ignores the bottle and reaches for the can instead. For some reason, Seth finds his eyes drawn to Neil’s wrist. The way it looks bizarrely delicate, curved and fine.

Matt snorts into his drink. “Yeah. Thought so.”

“Fuck you.” Seth shoots him a glare.

Neil finishes his sip and waves a finger in a circle, which should neither be suggestive nor enticing. “Other way around.”

“What—”

“You say things, but your eyes are easy to read,” Neil continues, as if Seth even asked. “Andrew’s like that, too.”

“Are you comparing me to your psycho boyfriend?”

“Oh, he doesn’t use that word, yet.”

“Psycho?”

Neil smirks at Seth’s petty reply. He drops onto the couch, bouncing a little, reddish hair out of place. There’s a strand stuck to his mouth and Seth _does not think about it or look at it._ “Funny. See, you two are more alike than you think. It’s just you’re a couple steps behind him.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Matt adds helpfully. He slides his cup onto the coffee table, kicking Neil’s discarded shoes out of the way, and waves a hand. “So, ground rules. Stop and no.”

“I’m going to assume cursing is par for the course,” Neil adds, leaning his head back, eyes closed as he tilts it side to side. Like he’s stretching his neck. For what, Seth doesn’t—

—oh.

“You’re seriously—”

“I am seriously going to blow you,” Neil says patiently, as if they are talking about calculus homework and not _this_. “If you don’t say no.”

Seth takes a moment to look down at his glass and wonders whether there was something else in the whiskey. “You’re both fucking insane,” he finally decides.

“Good thing you like crazy,” Matt grins.

“May I?” Neil tilts his head, arm on the back of the couch, relaxed like he’s done this before. Like it’s all academic. “Not that you’re wearing much to begin with, but. We can start simple.”

“Yeah? What’s your idea of simple? I’ve got a feeling our dictionaries are fucking different.”

“You really do like to run your mouth.”

“Told you.” Matt snorts and leans over the couch and suddenly, there is very little proximity between their faces. When Matt speaks again, he’s a little softer. “Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.” It’s not a question. Seth probably thinks he should have thought about it, but his instinct is a _yes_ that can’t be held back. He _does_ trust Matt, as much as this is different and bizarre and completely out of left field.

Matt smiles. “Good.”

It’s _different._

Different to suddenly be kissing someone that’s not Riko, or even Allison, or one of perhaps three other people Seth recalls having kissed at random parties. Different not to have an immediate _don’t fucking touch me_ reaction to this, or even the concept of this. Of being on the couch with two other people—two _guys_ —and having no clue where things will go.

Seth considers calling everything off, just to exercise that chance, but the thought is gone as quickly as it came.

His next thought is, _fuck it._ Then he stops thinking.

Matt’s warm. Very warm. Seth can remember Matt lending him his jacket once or twice, at football games when it was freezing as all hell and Seth just didn’t own a jacket. This is different. It’s not the biting or bruising kisses he’s used to, or the lazy makeout sessions stolen in corners of the school. Matt tastes like Tennessee honey and fire.

It’s _not bad._

“Oh, perfect,” Neil murmurs, and then his hands are sliding under Seth’s shirt. “I’ve always been curious—”

About two seconds later, the pillow is gone, and Seth’s underwear follow it. Matt pulls back to assess, his lips still vaguely parted, and Seth thinks it is a perfectly stupid metaphor to be looking at him upside-down.

Neil hums. It sounds appreciative and maybe satisfied. “Thought so. This will be good.”

“Who’s fucking running their mouth, now?”

“Is that a no?” Neil leans over Seth’s thighs, arms lazily slung over his legs and his mouth stupidly close.

Seth can feel his breath on his dick. It’s not helping the raging hard-on he’s had all morning. “It’s not.”

“Thought so.” Neil smiles and it should not look sweet, but it _does_ , and Seth has a fractured flurry of images from the times they would hang out in the morning, Neil squinting in the sun, freckled and golden.

He kind of looks the same when he goes down on Seth, hair a little tousled and cheeks faintly rosy. This—

—this isn’t a new sight; Seth has watched Riko do the same thing before, _but_ , it’s new. It’s different and instead of the recoil or disinterest Seth expects, there’s a very different reaction. The opposite one, in fact.

“Fuck,” Seth gasps, and then his hands are digging into Matt’s arms at either side of his head. It takes about two seconds for Matt to lean over his open mouth, and then Seth finds his tongue occupied by Matt instead of useless words.

It’s not surprising that Neil is good with his mouth, considering how much shit Seth has seen him get into just by opening the damn thing—and Neil is _good_ , focused and determined, paying attention to everything that makes Seth twist on the couch. Eventually, Seth can’t even kiss properly because he’s too busy trying not to outright moan at what’s happening.

Seth can’t keep track of how long he’s there, but he knows he’s too close when Neil suddenly backs off, the obscene pop his mouth makes echoing in Seth’s ears.

“I think it might be your turn,” Neil says mournfully, as if this is a discussion about playing a video game and not _fucking_. Seth thinks he might know why Andrew sometimes looks like he is going to murder his own boyfriend. Or whatever he calls Neil.

Matt hums in agreement. He stops long enough to kiss Neil for a moment before taking his place and that— _that shouldn’t be hot_ and there are so many tangled threads here, Seth thinks he might choke on them. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to care.

“You’ll have to relax,” Matt submits helpfully, and _where the hell did he get lube?_ Seth barely registers Matt nudging his legs open wider. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

“Fucking Christ,” Seth chokes out, because there is no other way to describe this situation or what’s going through his mind; _not that there’s anything_ , because it’s one thing to have sex with one person and another thing entirely to have two people. Especially when they’re Matt and Neil.

Neil smiles a little. He props his chin in his hand as he lingers at Seth’s shoulder, blue eyes hazy. Matt’s hand is warm when he presses it against Seth’s body and then—then, the absurd sensation of his finger sliding in overrides everything.

“Relax,” Matt chastises gently. “Trust me.”

“You need a distraction,” Neil decides, and just like that, he takes Seth’s chin in hand and tilts his face closer.

More newness. Seth wonders if it’s romantic or stupid or both to think that no one could possibly kiss the same way. Neil does so with determination—an almost academic approach, like he has everything down to a formula, but he’s not cold or distant. He only follows every sharp inhale and response like a fox chasing down a rabbit.

Seth thinks he needs something to do; he has too much energy and feels _too much_ , so he reaches out and almost touches Neil before it strikes him to say something. “Do—I—”

“Oh, cute,” Neil murmurs, pulling back. He doesn’t say it’s Seth’s inability to form a sentence, but it’s pretty obvious. “Do you want to?”

Matt does something creative with his fingers and Seth gasps, twisting onto his side. Matt laughs a little but withdraws, letting him turn over and move up toward the arm of the couch. “Are you sure you can handle this?”

“Fuck you,” Seth spits, but it comes out less angry than it probably should to be effective. He really just sounds as impatient as he is. “I’m not letting some half-pint twink upstage me.”

Neil’s laughter is probably one of the best things Seth has ever heard. He grins as he tilts Seth’s chin up with his hand, blue eyes merry. “No wonder you and Riko hit it off. You’ve got some diva in you, too.”

Seth snorts. “Yeah, like anyone could outdo him.”

“Well, we’re not grading, here,” Neil murmurs. He leans down one last time and his kiss is a little messier, the force reminding Seth that all three of them probably don’t have long. “Though I’d give your D an A.”

“I liked you better with your mouth full.”

Neil snorts. “Bitch. Same.”

Matt’s hand is back, his fingers stretching a little more, and the odd feeling of space begins to fade into the background. Neil is standing right there, anyway, and Seth has done some research. He’s pretty sure he could handle doing something he’s never done before.

After all, that’s been his life, for the past two or three months.

His first taste is interesting. Skin tastes like salt and something else; he knows that much. It’s different when it’s his mouth on someone’s dick and not a neck or mouth, though. Different when Neil makes a pleased noise, his fingers curling in Seth’s hair with a tangle that is somehow just as sweet as his kisses.

 _It’s not bad,_ Seth thinks, and that’s a vast understatement as he forgets everything but how to keep himself breathing steadily. It’s a little more complicated in practice, but he has a good month’s worth of dedicated research at the back of his mind and then—

— _Matt’s dick is pressing up against him_ and Seth gasps so harshly he almost swallows Neil whole.

“Ready? You can back out,” Matt reassures him. His voice is low and slurred, his hand pressed to Seth’s back. Seth glances back only long enough to give him a halfhearted glare.

“If I backed out now, I’d be in one fucking hell of a position.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Neil says evenly. “You can.”

“Can,” Seth agrees. “Won’t.”

It’s enough for them. It’s enough for Matt to suddenly slide into him and Seth temporarily forgets his name and thinks he knows why Riko might look so mindless when he’s being fucked well, because this is _definitely_ consuming, and it drives everything from his mind but the sensation itself.

Seth thinks it might be rude to leave Neil a little unfinished, but he can’t honestly concentrate on anything but breathing and _feeling_ , and Neil seems content enough to kiss him and handle himself.

Seth might care _a little_. Or a lot. Or just too much and not enough, because he cannot say that it’s a fluke or frustration or just being fucking horny that drove him here. It’s just him. Him, and the fact that he _definitely_ checked _both_ Matt and Neil out at one point, even if he didn’t acknowledge it either time.

Well. He’s making up for it now.

More than making up for it, because he is suddenly aware that he’s not going to last long, not with Matt inside of him and Neil whispering stupid encouraging things in his ears like _good_ and _you look so pretty_ —

—both of which overfill him, and then Seth is spilling over himself and Matt’s hand curled around his dick, a broken cry falling from his mouth as he leans over the arm of the couch. Neil fucking _eats it up_ , his tongue finding every corner of Seth’s mouth to taste the sound.

Matt used a condom, Seth recognizes a blurry moment later, in the strange way of picking up useless details in a heated moment. He remembers to thank him later.

“There you go,” Neil breathes, and he came at some point that Seth didn’t notice, maybe because it was at the same time. He can’t think. “You did so well.”

“I’m not a fucking child,” Seth replies, but it sounds like he’s sulking. “God. You two are the fucking worst.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you get off to the worst,” they say at the same time, and Seth flips them off as he sags onto the arm of the couch.

He could think about this. But for now, he’s enjoying the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to let your imaginations run wild with what Matt and Seth did in the meantime, all day Saturday  
> and ya know it's not like maybe Seth jerked off in the shower thinking about his best friend hahahhahahaahahahahhaahahahahaahhhhhh  
> ANYWAY ENJOY?


	10. Hello, Good(bi)

Riko wakes up Monday morning to the smell of pancakes. It’s not often Ichirou makes them. There are a few already stacked on a plate when Riko wanders toward the kitchen, Neil on his heels.

“The fuck?” Riko scrubs at his eyes. A smear of black comes away on the back of his palm; he rubs it against his oversized shirt.

Neil snorts. He’s quiet in the mornings—quieter, that is. For some reason, he just happens to be wearing the same shirt as Riko.

Ichirou brought the shirts home from a convention last year. They’re laughably large enough to function as nightgowns. Ichirou once took a picture of them in their shirts, passed out on the couch after a visit to a waterpark. He promised he deleted it, but his smirk said otherwise.

“I have the week off.” Ichirou shrugs, sliding more pancakes onto the plate at his elbow. “You have tests today, right? Midterms? You’re not allowed to leave until you eat.”

“Fascist,” Neil murmurs, but he sleepily bumps against Ichirou’s side to kiss his cheek.

Riko is in the middle of pouring a glass of juice when he realizes something and turns to look at Neil, frowning. “When the hell did you show up? You weren’t home when we got back.”

Neil pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth, blinking. It looks as if his brain takes half a second to catch up, for once, and then the corner of his mouth twitches.

“I got back late. I was occupied.”

“With what?”

“Matt and Seth.”

Riko turns to stare. Ichirou sighs and in tired Japanese says, “Pay attention.”

The glass of juice has poured over onto the counter. Riko scowls and slams the carton down to screw the cap back on. Ichirou shakes his head and passes Riko paper towels.

Riko considers prodding, but he doesn’t want to seem like he cares at all. He can already tell Neil’s little smirk is settling on his lips, and it won’t budge for at least a few hours. Riko concentrates on drowning his pancakes in strawberry jelly instead, ignoring Ichirou’s mildly affronted reaction, and thinks about midterms.

With everything he’s been doing—well, just Seth—Riko forgot to remember when they were.

Oh, well. He shoves pancakes into his mouth, tired and annoyed, and wonders if he’ll have any luck chasing Matt down for answers. Somehow, he has the impression that he won’t have luck there, either. Matt is Seth’s friend, after all. Or something.

Riko finishes breakfast as quickly as possible and throws his clothes on. He grabs his backpack while he hears Ichirou calling his name. “What?!”

“I said, I’ll give you a ride,” Ichirou says, eyebrow raised as he leans in Riko’s doorway. “I can drop you off this week. We’ll go to dinner on Friday.”

“Why?” Riko pauses, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder as he brushes by Ichirou. His brother seems to ignore his glare. As if this is just an average conversation.

“Because I love you so much,” Ichirou responds drily, but he’s wearing a little smile and—

— _that_ , Riko hasn’t seen in some time. He struggles with whether to feel guilty or glad, and he ends up remembering crying in the fucking mall and decides to just shoot his brother a halfhearted glare. “Fine. I choose.”

“It’s more fun if I make you two fight it out.”

Riko rolls his eyes and follows his brothers downstairs, to where Ichirou’s car is waiting. The only problem is, someone is idling behind the car.

That someone is Seth.

Ichirou frowns. Glances between the truck and Riko. “You didn’t—”

“Well, let’s go,” Riko says abruptly, making a beeline for Ichirou’s car, but his brother snags the back of his hoodie and pulls him back gently.

“We have all week.”

“So does this. Longer, even—”

Ichirou holds a finger up. In any other setting, it would be a threat. A sharp reminder that he could kill someone with a word or movement. Now, Riko sees the irritation in his brother’s frown and the concern lingering there, too. “You cannot wait to live, Riko. No one will tell you how. You have to figure it out for yourself.”

He means more than just this, but—

— _but,_ it’s barely eight in the morning and Riko does not have time to consider all the history that twines in his throat and forms a lump.

Riko stomps towards Seth’s truck. He is not sure what he is going to say or do, or even if he will get in the car, but he forgets everything when he sees Seth’s face.

Seth is smirking a little, chin resting on the arm that lays on his open window in a boyish pose. He doesn’t say anything as Riko approaches, but he doesn’t have to.

It’s the _smile_ that gets Riko. It’s not the same sharp-edged curve that it usually is. There’s something teasing in it, like he knows something Riko doesn’t, and that is almost aggravating enough to distract Riko from the _smile._

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Seth raises his eyebrows, like he’s fucking innocent, with his stupid curl over his right eye and the little silver piercing on his left eyebrow that moves when he pouts. _Pouts._ “Told you I’d see you Monday.”

“You must be masochist,” Riko hisses. He doesn’t say _I should have run you off,_ but it’s implied and he hates that almost as much as the unconcerned way Seth stares back at him.

Riko hates how much he is looking at Seth. How his eyes wander over Seth’s face, finding the little scar on his cheekbone and the rings on the side of his nose. The marks that Riko has memorized, from several weeks of leaning over Seth in illicit corners of the library and challenging him to stay silent.

There is something to be said about being called thirsty. Riko considers that he probably looks parched.

Seth waves a hand dismissively. “That’s all you, babe. Now, get in. I’m blocking your brother.”

Riko _does not_ feel a static thrill or an inappropriate rush of blood when Seth says _babe_. He does, however stomp around the truck and slam the door shut behind him.

Seth doesn’t even complain. Thankfully, he doesn’t talk the rest of the way, either.

* * *

By Tuesday afternoon, Riko is almost insane. Seth hasn’t done anything.

 _Nothing._ He hasn’t pulled Riko into a library study room or even grabbed his ass in the locker room. Hasn’t pulled over on the way to school to make out in his truck. Seth hasn’t laid a finger on Riko and Riko feels like he might explode.

“All right, what the fuck.”

Seth looks up from his book—Calculus—and his brow furrows. “What?”

Riko almost hisses. They are on the lawn during lunch as usual; there aren’t many people around. It’s sunny and warm, and their usual tree blocks them from sight. Riko takes advantage of the cover and plants himself between Seth’s legs, smacking them open wider.

“You’re acting fucking weird.”

“How?”

“Can you only speak in one-word questions, now?” Riko’s eyes narrow; he examines Seth. Finds the usual attraction in his eyes and desire, too—only now, it’s _different._ “There’s something different.”

Seth sighs. “What are you asking? I can’t answer if you’re being fucking obtuse.”

“You haven’t touched me once,” Riko snaps hotly, aware of how weak he sounds. He hates having to say something, but he hates this strange distance more. “But you’re grinning like an idiot all the time and you keep hanging around—”

“Am I supposed to be touching you all the time?” Seth raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize I was doing less. Anyway, you were pissed at me on Friday.”

“Yeah. Friday.”

Seth doesn’t reply. Riko bites his tongue until he tastes something metallic and digs his nails into Seth’s exposed knees, past the rips in his worn jeans. “Fighting is what we do. That’s the point.”

“Maybe I don’t want to fight you,” Seth says suddenly, and Riko feels his balance tip. He almost rocks back on his feet, unsteady. Seth just continues to gaze at him, brown eyes steady. “At least, not over stupid things. I’ve got better ways to spend my time.”

“What? Your anger issues suddenly dissolved overnight?” Riko replies faintly, still reeling. He’s not sure what—who—he’s looking at, or at least, that’s how he _wants_ to feel. Except this is still entirely Seth, and Riko can’t wrap his mind around that fact.

“Wasn’t night,” Seth murmurs, a wry smile on his lips. He reaches out and then his finger rests under Riko’s chin, tilting it up in a way that makes a shiver run down Riko’s spine. “If you’re asking whether I’ll still choke you when I fuck you over the arm of my sofa, the answer is yes.”

Riko can feel the hot blush creeping up his skin. He is not sure he likes the way Seth is suddenly self-aware enough to smirk darkly, something like a promise in his eyes, _but that is a lie and Riko loves it more than he can comprehend._

“I’ll still fuck your pretty mouth,” Seth continues, his hand trailing down to Riko’s neck. “And I will still bite your skin until I leave more bruises than you have tattoos. I’d just like to do that without coming in the back door. Literally, I mean.”

Riko thinks he probably died sometime before Seth finished and he’s not sure what the fuck is going on, but he decides the sum of it is that Seth is still interested and that’s all Riko needs. The future has never mattered to him; he’s fought it tooth and nail. This is not about the future, though. Not for Riko.

So long as Seth is willing now, Riko will take what he can get. Maybe he has an extension on the due date for their relationship—whatever it is—but there’s only so long that Seth can channel his newfound sexuality before he gets sick of their fling.

“Great,” Riko says shortly, aware that the school bell has rung, and people are starting to file inside. “Then you won’t have a problem holding my hand at school? I’m flattered.”

“Hand? Tame,” Seth drawls. Riko nearly jumps when he feels Seth’s hands slap onto his ass. “I will hold whatever you want me to.”

Riko decides that his flimsy control is shot enough to ignore. Anyway, Seth started it. He leans up between Seth’s legs and practically falls into him, enjoying the familiar hard press of lips. There might be a little more annoyance on his part than necessary, but Seth makes up for it.

Seth slides his hands into Riko’s back pockets and as many times as Riko has hated seeing other people do it, he loves the way it feels to have hands sliding over his body. The way Seth’s tongue curls in his mouth and explores every corner like he is trying to relearn his way around.

They should probably be inside and there might be a window nearby but Riko doesn’t care. He _missed_ this, fuck it, he doesn’t care what he thinks because at least no one else can hear. Riko missed the steady weight of Seth’s body and the taste of him. The way Seth tugs Riko closer, one hand wandering under his shirt and then tracing the line of his hip.

Seth breaks the kiss and Riko is momentarily aggravated before Seth bites the spot between his neck and shoulder, his breath hot against Riko’s skin. Riko is too surprised to stop the moan that escapes his mouth, panting and half-broken.

“You know,” Seth mutters, his voice muffled, “I don’t have any more tests today. Do you?”

Riko almost curses. He wants to throw a rock at the school. “Yes,” he hisses, when Seth’s teeth become more insistent on his skin. “ _Fuck._ You’re not making this—easy.”

“What? Me, for once, the difficult one?” Seth leans back, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, and Riko smacks his head.

“Fuck off.”

“I’d rather be fucking you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me okAY


	11. Dye, P.1

It’s not unusual to find Riko in his lap. It is very unusual to do so in the middle of the cafeteria.

Seth is just surprised none of the teachers have come to pull them apart.

“God, kill me now,” Riko groans. He sits between Seth’s legs and leans back against his chest, lazy and sprawled as much as he can off the edge of the bench. His lazy fingers tap the table, chipped black polish nearly worn off entirely.

Seth rolls his eyes. “He’s dead. Anyway, you’re done with tests. At least you can go home early.”

“Nope. Don’t have a ride,” Riko says, popping the _p_ as he speaks. He does it on purpose, Seth knows, just to fuck with Seth because they can’t exactly sneak off to make out.

The gym has a leak, and no one is allowed in while the workers fix it. So, there aren’t many places left to hide, and lunch brings everyone out of the woodwork.

Well. Riko is the one that always wants to hide. Seth isn’t bothered, so he drags his hand over Riko’s hair, enjoying the little hum that escapes the small body before him and the way Riko pushes his head into the touch. It makes Seth warmer than the shitty soup on his tray.

“You’re being obvious,” Riko murmurs, but he doesn’t pull away. His hands just slide over Seth’s thighs, inquiring.

Seth shrugs. He knows Riko can feel it, with their bodies pressed together. “I told you, no more back door. I’ll hold whatever you want. Your mouth, if you want…”

He trails off to give Riko time to think. To let the unspoken offer settle in like spilled ink on a page, flowering thickly. Seth can feel Riko tense against him for a moment, his antsy finger still.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will,” Seth replies, and then it’s just a dip and lean to find Riko’s mouth. He can almost taste the surprise. The way Riko’s breath hitches, a whisper evading his throat and tickling Seth’s.

It lasts maybe twenty seconds before Neil sighs and says, “I was only gone for a minute.”

Seth leans back and stifles a laugh when Riko glares at his brother. His cheeks are flushed, which hurts his pissed expression. He is not intimidating at all.

Besides, Neil is just as chaotic and perhaps even more unafraid. He doesn’t care.

Riko flips off his brother and Seth closes his arms around Riko’s waist, hands clasped as he bounces his leg a little. Riko flicks him an annoyed look. “I’m not a child.”

Riko realizes his mistake as soon as he’s said it. His expression says he knows something is coming, even if he doesn’t know what. Seth just grins and leans in, nibbling at Riko’s ear. He waits until Riko is disarmed to whisper, “But you do like sitting on daddy’s lap.”

The brilliant blush that lights up Riko’s face is just as wonderful as the way he immediately curls his fingernails into Seth’s arms, biting, and shoots a burning look over his shoulder.

“You talk a big game. What the hell made you so bold?”

“Education,” Neil says vaguely. Seth kicks him under the table; Neil doesn’t seem to mind.

Riko frowns, but he doesn’t ask. Thankfully. “Whatever the fuck your issue is, I don’t buy it. You’re just pretending to grow a spine.”

“Want to bet on that?”

Neil leans forward, suddenly _too_ interested in the conversation. Before he can speak, Jeremy appears with his boyfriends.

Kevin and Jean are athletes; Kevin has gym with Seth and Jean has AP English with him. They’re familiar enough. It’s Jeremy that knows Riko, though. They shouldn’t be friends, Seth thinks—not least of all because of how sunny and popular Jeremy is in comparison to Riko. Really the only thing they have in common is how much of a reputation they have as chaotic twinks, and Seth didn’t even learn about that until he started listening to locker room chatter.

“Cute,” Jeremy says brightly, grinning at Riko.

“Fuck off,” Riko replies, but it’s more grumbled than actually sharp. He crosses his arms and slumps further in Seth’s arms. “Shouldn’t you all be taking tests?”

“Moved some around,” Kevin says. He kicks his feet up and leans against Jean’s shoulder, uncaring of the nasty looks people are throwing him. He runs a hand through his stupid hair and it somehow maintains perfect shape.

Jean rests his chin on the palm of his hand. “Seth, don’t you have one left? Our English class?”

“Yeah. Then I have to take this asshole home,” he adds, “because apparently he can’t be bothered to find another ride.”

“That just means he likes riding with you better,” Jeremy says cheekily, his grin bright.

Seth snorts. He means to say, _I don’t know about that,_ because Riko is still fighting him every step of the way. Because Riko is determined not to name this thing between them, and Seth suspects that asking will only create more trouble than it’s worth. For now.

“I like how you call me an asshole in front of everyone,” Riko says silkily. “I wonder if that bravado will last? Would you—”

“Challenging for proof of someone’s dedication or affection is an outdated and manipulative tactic,” Jeremy points out calmly, tipping his water bottle back. “Be careful what you say.”

Riko pauses and Seth considers the comment. He unlinks his hands and taps Riko, then waits for him to turn. “What could you possibly challenge me with? I already have you in my lap.”

“Dye your hair. Pink.”

Neil snorts and chokes on his juice. He’s still coughing when Seth looks down at Riko, unimpressed. _If he thinks I’m that vain, he’s got another thing coming._

Seth might go to lengths not to seem like trailer trash, but to his knowledge, trailer trash generally don’t dye their hair pink. He might even look good.

“Deal.”

* * *

Allison laughs for a full ten minutes. Once she’s done, she waves a perfectly-manicured hand at Seth, directing him toward her shiny red convertible. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Renee sits in the passenger seat, mildly intrigued when Seth climbs into the back. She smiles all the same. “Hello, Seth.”

“Hey.”

“Babe, you’ve _gotta_ hear this,” Allison cackles. She spends the entire trip to Sally’s talking about Riko and Seth and the bet.

Renee patiently wanders the aisles of Sally’s with Allison, giving advice on color and bleach while Seth absently studies a row of pink hair swatches. He runs a finger under the little loops and wonders what Riko is doing. He only has one test, but it’s late in the day, which means Seth has until four o’clock to get his shit together.

“You’re serious about this,” Allison muses.

Seth shrugs. Shoves his hands in his pockets and pretends he doesn’t know what she’s really talking about. “I take bets seriously.”

Allison rolls her eyes. She examines a line of toners, but there’s something distant in her gaze. She isn’t really seeing anything. “You know, I thought you’d fall apart. After us.”

The confession is uncomfortable—not because it seems like she had no faith, but because he knows he didn’t deserve any. Not after everything he’s learned.

“I figured you’d move on. Just not to Renee.”

“Really?” Her reply is dry. Seth just huffs.

“Listen, I was fucking determined to be straight.”

“I remember. Boring,” Allison complains, but the jab is softened by her smile. “I’m glad, you know. That you figured it out.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

They leave it at that, probably because Seth isn’t sure he can handle more and because Renee is reaching for something over her head. The music in the store drowns out whatever bittersweet memories linger, and Seth concentrates on looking for a good color.

“Here we go,” Allison finally says, piling things into Seth’s arms when she returns. “Let’s see…what pink are you looking at?”

Seth nods in the direction of a bright swatch. Renee shakes her head. “Pure magenta? Wrong for your skin tone.”

“Virgin pink,” Allison decides, smirking as she grabs the bottle. “Diluted. Pastel works better.”

Seth just lets himself be directed toward the register.

* * *

Riko stops short when Seth waves from is truck. The confusion and suspicion on his face is fairly clear, as well as the annoyed betrayal when Neil walks past to Andrew’s car.

“I take it Neil didn’t tell you I told your brother I’d pick you up?”

“Fuck off.” Riko swings into the truck anyway, tossing his backpack onto the floor. He crosses his arms and kicks his feet up, probably trying to be annoying but forgetting Seth doesn’t mind.

Riko closes his eyes for the ride home, probably because his algebra test kicked his ass. He hates math. Seth lets the music fill the space, glad that Riko hasn’t looked around enough to notice the plastic bag at Seth’s feet.

They pull up to the apartment and Riko pauses when Seth shuts off the engine. Riko stares as Seth takes his key out, snatching up the bag at his feet and climbing out.

“What are you—”

Riko stops short when he sees the bag. It’s thin and the pink dye is obvious. “You’re fucking me.”

“I am.”

That earns him an eyeroll. Riko’s scowl is hilarious. He stomps up toward the front door and Seth just follows, biting on his grin.

“We have uninvited company,” Riko announces as he throws the door open.

Ichirou doesn’t even look up. “No, he’s invited.”

Riko glares at his brother, slack-jawed. “Betrayed by _both_ of you—”

“It’s not betrayal. You were in class. I couldn’t tell you that he asked.”

Riko slams his bedroom door open. Seth barely manages to choke his laugh down. Ichirou smirks at him and waves. “Don’t get too rowdy. I have a katana.”

Seth just keeps walking to the bathroom. Riko appears a few seconds later, wearing a laughably oversized t-shirt. Seth cannot contain his laughter any longer. He ends up crouched on the floor, tears in his eyes, while Riko prepares to kick him.

Ichirou just yells from the living room. “Is it the resort one?!”

“Fuck you!!!” Riko shouts back. He turns to Seth and kicks his side. “Come on, bastard, before I decide to dye it orange.”

Seth has to sit on the bathtub ledge for Riko to reach his head. Riko’s phone plays Paramore at the sink while he works, the smell of bleach burning low in the bathroom as the vent hums under everything.

“Didn’t think you’d do it,” Riko mutters, a half-frown on his lips.

Seth snorts. “And turn down a bet?”

His reply is gentler than Riko probably expected. Despite the smell of bleach, the sensation of Riko running his fingers through Seth’s hair is nice. Only—

— “Are you avoiding the front of my head?”

Riko scowls. His fingers twitch and he uses his forearm to brush hair back. “You have a curl. It might not…”

“Oh. Curl?”

“Yes.” The answer comes through gritted teeth. Seth fights a smile and schools his face until Riko can finish. “It’s over your right eye, you fucking moron. Do you not look in the mirror?”

“I know it’s there. Didn’t realize you liked it that much.”

Riko slaps bleach onto Seth’s head and starts to sing, loudly, to Paramore. It’s a bad choice if he thinks it’s going to make Seth smile any less.

The bleach only takes twenty minutes, so in the meantime, Riko wanders toward the living room to bother his brother. Ichirou is cross-legged on the couch, roundish glasses perched on his nose as he absently taps through a document on his laptop. He glances up at Riko and Seth’s approach, seemingly unbothered by the bleach.

“We demand food.”

Ichirou slants a sideways look at his brother, unamused. “Do you, now?”

“I’m un-including myself,” Seth announces, before lowering himself into a recliner. He only remembers at the last minute to keep his head away from the cushions.

“Betrayed on all fronts.”

“What do you want, peasant?” Ichirou lifts his eyebrows at Riko, peering over his glasses. “I’ll consider.”

Riko bites on his lip and kicks Seth’s shin. “Well?”

“What, ‘cause I’m poor, I’m the peasant?” Seth snorts. “Fuck you. I’ll let him pick.”

Ichirou smiles wickedly. “Good answer.”

Riko says something in Japanese that is probably colorful. Seth ignores the complaint and just lets Riko sit between his legs on the floor, flipping through channels while Ichirou uses his phone to order. It only takes ten minutes for Riko to stand, impatiently dragging Seth back toward the bathroom.

Once they are in, Riko beckons. “Kneel.”

“Oh?” He thinks his reply probably sounds a little too interested. Riko’s mouth twitches, frustration or desire challenging his will to do things properly.

“I mean it,” Riko repeats, although his voice is a little ragged. “We’ll do the color after dinner.”

Seth probably should not be thinking about other things when he kneels at the bathtub. Riko just runs the water over his head, massaging Seth’s hair with careful hands. They always feel delicate, somehow. Careful. Riko towels Seth’s hair off with as much care as he affords whispers in the hallway, tossing the towel onto the rack once he’s done. Seth might pay too much attention to the flick of his wrist.

Well. Self-control is overrated, anyway.

Seth’s hands land on Riko’s waist. He likes the jerk in Riko’s body, shock overriding him into stillness as Seth hums interestedly. “You know, that order’s going to take at least fifteen more minutes to arrive.”

Seth pushes the shirt out of the way. Riko’s only in underwear underneath; it leaves his hipbones completely visible and accessible. Seth licks a stripe along one while Riko’s hands fly to Seth’s face, nails faintly scratching skin. He gasps out, “And?”

Seth lifts an eyebrow and peers up at Riko’s flushed face. “And I’m hungry now.”

A noise of protest and disbelief barely tumbles from Riko’s lips before Seth disposes of his underwear, keenly aware of what little distance lies between the bathroom door and the living room.

“You’re unbelievable,” Riko gasps, his voice harsh and hushed as he tries to stay quiet.

“Show me what a good boy you are,” Seth grins, leaning in. “Can you be quiet?”

“Is that an order?” Riko’s eyes flash, but his legs are already shaking. Or maybe they shake _because_ of what Seth says.

Seth decides at this point, he might as well. “Be a good boy for daddy, Riko. Don’t make a sound.”

He doesn’t give Riko time to argue. Seth opens his mouth to taste Riko’s dick, his tongue sliding over the head. Riko has to slap a hand over his mouth to keep his cry inside. It still comes out a little, muffled but sweet. Seth digs his nails into Riko’s ass, warning.

Riko whines when Seth takes too long to move on. It’s almost too enjoyable to watch Riko squirm, and Seth considers teasing him until he gets off, but he decides they can experiment with that later. For now, there’s little time.

Maybe Seth has had practice since his stint with Matt and Neil, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s another thing entirely to have Riko in his mouth, a steady and warm weight. He decides it’s much better than practice.

One of Riko’s hands twists in Seth’s hair. He pulls, a pleasant little tug that is increasingly desperate. Seth moves faster to enjoy the slide of Riko’s hard dick on his tongue, and then Riko forgets to stop a moan from escaping his mouth.

Seth blindly reaches for the underwear on the floor and backs away, chest heaving.

“God damn it,” Riko curses, but he sounds more broken and breathless than angry.

Seth just grins and leans in to kiss Riko, clashing as hard as he can and pushing him into the wall. Riko’s moan echoes between them and Seth can feel Riko’s hips moving in protest.

In the end, Seth backs away and shoves the underwear into Riko’s gaping mouth. He ignores Riko’s noise of protest and kneels again, distantly aware of the tile pressing into his jeans.

Anyway, the more pleasant sensation is taking Riko all the way. Riko tangling his hands in Seth’s hair, the way his thighs shake, and the muted noises he makes behind the fabric in his mouth.

He can feel Riko coiling; can sense the sharp jolt of tension as everything comes to a blinding end. Seth holds on despite the warning hands Riko presses against his cheeks. He holds on and digs his thumbs into Riko’s hips; he swallows every drop that Riko spills and lets Riko cling uselessly to him, shuddering through the orgasm.

Seth waits a good long while before he moves back, letting Riko’s dick fall from his lips. The wet sound of it almost makes him want to lock the door and keep going. He has to push the thought away when Ichirou yells at them from the living room.

“Food’s here!”

“Food came,” Seth echoes, voice breaking as he starts to laugh.

Riko spits his underwear onto Seth’s head. “Asshole.”

Seth gets the impression Riko isn’t all that mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't @ me for my color choice, hos


	12. Dye, P.2

Seth doesn’t look as shitty as he should with just-bleached hair. Riko kicks him in the shin under the table as Ichirou unpacks the Thai food he ordered. Seth mostly ignores the hit, probably because he still has a smug little smirk on his face, given that he just gave Riko a blowjob.

“What’s that?” Seth frowns, chin in hand as he looks at the spring rolls Ichirou is sliding toward the center of the table.

Riko is almost too distracted by the fan of Seth’s lashes to pay attention to the question. Almost.

“…have you never had spring rolls?”

Riko is only halfway through his sentence when Ichirou kicks _him_ under the table, warning. The look on his brother’s face once the words are out would be amusing, if Riko didn’t realize too late how stupid his question is.

Instead of anger, though, Seth just points to his face. “Poor.”

“I thought your name was Seth.”

It’s stupid how fast Riko’s pulse thuds with the aftershock of nearly screwing up. He glares down at the table again and then shoves his chair away from the table to look for drinks.

This is stupid.

Everything is stupid—the little curl on Seth’s forehead that has somehow stubbornly survived bleaching, the sun-dusted rose on his shoulders, the nonchalant way he regards having _nothing_ , _always_ having nothing, and not lashing out when Riko’s ignorance should crack him.

This started simply, but Riko is starting to think it won’t be simple for much longer. He is already considering the fact that he’s having dinner. With Seth. And Ichirou.

 _Oh, God,_ he realizes, _this is like a chaperoned date._

“Soda’s in the freezer,” Ichirou says, as if he thinks Riko’s sudden imitation of a concussed turtle is simple confusion.

At the table, the sound of wooden chopsticks snapping breaks the silence. Seth’s voice is quizzical when he asks, “How the hell do you do this?”

Riko practically shoves his face into the freezer to avoid looking back at Seth. The question echoes in his mind and all he can think about is sliding up behind Seth to guide his hand and—

— _and that’s so fucking sappy_ he wants to die, but at least he’s saved by Ichirou’s laugh.

The thing about Ichirou is that he does laugh, and he’s about as outwardly happy as he can be, given both his personality and their family history.

But for a while, he didn’t really laugh at all, because he was too busy letting Riko make his life hell. He let his little brother beat against him for years, and Riko tries not to think about that, because even though he can say _you should have done something, you should have been there,_ he knows it’s not that simple.

It’s just so easy to reduce things to their ugly truths when you’re a victim among victims.

So, Ichirou laughs and Riko almost drops the soda cans because the sound is _relief_. It’s a reminder that they are alive, and things have moved on—that the world has turned since they left the Castle. Since they tore the aortic connection to family and past, bleeding out as they ran along and hoping they could cling to life long enough to at least survive, much less live.

Riko stops long enough to watch his brother crouch by Seth’s chair, laughing and mimicking the right movement with his fingers as Seth frowns and stares at his hand.

He wonders if this is what security feels like. _Maybe it could be love,_ but he’s hungry and now is not the time to think about that.

Not yet.

Seth stumbles a little throughout dinner, but by the end, he doesn’t seem to have any trouble. Riko almost says _you’re good with your hands,_ but Seth’s stifled grin tells him that the sentiment is expected, so Riko holds his tongue.

“Do you have any plans for after high school?” Ichirou asks, scrunching his nose in a familiar response to the way his glasses have slid down.

Seth shrugs and examines his plate a little too closely. Riko pretends he’s not invested in the answer, but—

—well. They never did finish talking about Seth failing a year.

Which is really Riko’s fault, for arguing instead of talking. Why does he feel so guilty about it?

“I’m not sure,” Seth submits. “Maybe mechanic work for a year, while I figure things out. School is expensive.”

Ichirou arches an eyebrow. Riko moves to kick him, already guessing what’s going to come, but his brother’s leg is gone. Ichirou anticipates the move and steals shrimp from Riko’s plate without looking before he says, “You’d have a full ride with a scholarship. Especially since your parents aren’t in the picture. So long as you’re poor and not entirely white, you’ll get money.”

Strikingly insensitive, Riko thinks, but then, Seth is datin—fucking him. He wouldn’t be around if he couldn’t handle this.

“How’d you know?” Seth pauses, genuinely interested, and Riko has to backtrack to figure out what he’s talking about.

Ichirou shrugs. “It was a guess. There are just a few things about your features that remind me of someone. Anyway, no white person can really handle sriracha, or any level of extreme heat.”

Ichirou waves his chopsticks at Seth’s plate and Seth snorts. “Point taken.”

“Fascinating as the future may be, we have work to do,” Riko interrupts, snatching the empty soda cans from the table to throw them in the kitchen sink. He grabs another two before he walks out of the dining room and toward the bathroom. “Come on.”

He doesn’t entirely miss the look Seth and Ichirou exchange. He doesn’t quite like that they communicate silently. Or that they communicate at all. It would be a lot easier if they didn’t.

“What’s next?”

Riko almost jumps. Seth is right behind him, his chin dipping to rest on Riko’s shoulder, and _that is not cute_ , not at all.

“Pink. Obviously,” Riko replies, vaguely irritated. His underwear is still in the corner of the bathroom and he pointedly does not look at them, or think about how Seth looked with his lips around—

— _right._

Seth frowns and examines the bottle on the counter. It’s far too deep for them to use as is, although Riko is tempted by the thought. There is, however, a diluter in the bag Seth brought. Riko dumps a plastic bowl haphazardly into the sink and asks, “How the fuck did you know what to get, anyway?”

“I didn’t. Allison helped. A—”

Whatever else Seth is going to say is cut by Riko’s “Oh.”

He tries to keep his voice neutral, but there is only so much he can do to hide the obvious question that lingers in his throat.

_Did you meet up? Do you still want her? Would you take her back?_

Riko does not care what the answers are. He’s just curious.

Or so he tells himself, but he’s never been good at convincing. Not with words.

Seth’s mouth against Riko’s neck is far too enticing, and then he murmurs, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

Riko uses the tapered dye brush in his hand to jab Seth in the stomach. Seth still laughs through the wheeze, reaching to unpackage the gloves as Riko angrily screws off the caps on the dye.

He considers changing Seth’s contact name to _Stupid_.

“Sit,” Riko demands. Seth manages to fold his long legs around the side of the toilet while he sits on the edge of the bathtub, watching Riko’s movements with mild interest.

“Your brother is nice,” Seth offers, while Riko is halfway through painting the first section of his hair. A glob of pastel pink lands on Seth’s scalp.

“Please, God, I don’t want to hear about your crush on him.”

“I didn’t say anything. That was all you.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Riko snaps, but there is no anger to it at all.

Of course, then Seth says, “Sure. I was going to ask if you would.”

Riko has to stop and set the dye brush into the bowl on the sink before he drops it entirely. He presses his hands together and feels just as disjointed as the sensation of thin latex against his skin, and _that_ brings up thoughts that it really shouldn’t.

“You’re not serious.”

He does not think Seth is serious, but he looks into the soft brown eyes before him and finds that they do not waver. They don’t even flick away. Seth stares at him as if he’s just asked about Riko’s Biology test and not _whether Riko would fuck him._

Seth squints a little. “You know, if you’re intimidated—”

“As if,” Riko blurts immediately. Seth isn’t trying to challenge him; his tone is more concerned than goading, but Riko finds it easier to respond to a contest than a connection. “I just wasn’t aware you would unbend your ego enough to get on your knees.”

“Not like there aren’t other positions.” Seth shrugs and Riko snatches the brush back into his hand just for something to concentrate on, other than this casual revelation that is far more important than Seth is making it seem. “But if you wanted me to, I wouldn’t mind.”

This is a change of heart. Riko wants to ask what is happening and how Seth can pretend this is fine. They never _discussed_ much before, other than when to stop and what things were not okay. Even those conversations were brief, fumbled and rushed as they sped toward what they wanted from one another.

This played-out musing isn’t familiar. Riko doesn’t know what to do with the heat pooling below his stomach; the sluggish burn seeps into his veins in a way that need and frustration never have. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy the angry, messy sex they usually have, but—

— _but,_ this simmering promise isn’t bad. It’s not bad at all.

There’s a knock at the door and Riko nearly throws his brush at the door.

“I’m going by the store for ice cream. Requests?”

God bless Ichirou, Riko thinks, because he can calculate just how long the trip will take. It’s long enough. “Anything with chocolate.”

Seth just shrugs. Riko rolls his eyes. “And the poor man will be happy just to have it.”

Riko distracts himself with the dye while he listens to Ichirou move around the living room. It’s ten minutes to the store. It’ll take Ichirou ten to do what he wants, because he likes taking his time.

Thirty minutes. Just the right amount of time for the hair dye to set and for Riko to test Seth’s newfound sense of adventure.

Riko might speed through the rest of the application before the front door shuts, but that’s beside the point. As soon as the door shuts, he loses his patience for Seth’s growing smirk and the distance between them.

The thing about kissing is that it’s never really movie-perfect, but there’s another kind of wonder that comes with the sticky taste of sweet sauce on Seth’s tongue and the underlying salt. Riko should probably be grossed out by the reminder that they just ate, but maybe it’s the teenage idiocy lurking somewhere in him that doesn’t give a shit.

Seth’s hands are already pushing up Riko’s shirt, his palms smoothing over Riko’s back and down to his ass. He holds Riko’s body like something much more beautiful and it’s frustrating and _stupid_ , the only childish remark Riko can make about any of this.

“Up,” Riko demands as he moves back. Seth snorts and withdraws his hands, scraping as he goes. Riko tries not to shiver at the sensation.

Seth skirts Riko to open the door and then Riko is pushing him into the bedroom, watching Seth stumble a little and yanking at his jeans while he’s off-balance. Seth makes a surprised noise and Riko frowns, realizing his gloves are still on. “Whoops.”

“You’re buying me a new pair.”

“Thank God. I’m sick of these ratty things.”

Seth turns and leans over Riko, frustratingly close but not closing the distance yet. “You just want to undress me.”

“Brilliant deduction,” Riko hisses. He tears Seth’s shirt off. Actually tears it, because it’s shitty and cheap and old. Seth blinks while Riko throws it into a corner of the room.

Seth’s smirk is a little less focused. “You know, that’s actually wrong—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Thankfully, Seth takes the hint. Or maybe he remembers the ticking clock. Either way, Riko pushes him toward the bed, blindly tugging his gloves off as he goes.

If Riko looks toward the corner of the room, he could see the exact spot Seth sat at when Riko came on his leg. He could look at the bed and remember the way it felt to rock against Seth when they were supposed to be doing Calculus, and they only stopped because Neil came home and brought Aaron and Matt along to study.

There are memories of sex in the bedroom, but there are actually far more memories of other things. Of Seth falling asleep at the foot of the bed, or Riko waking up to Seth smiling and taking Snaps of him. Neil and Seth throwing popcorn at each other and counting how many they could get stuck in each other’s hair. Andrew and Seth having push-up contests while Neil and Riko sat on their backs at two in the morning, when they were supposed to be quiet because Ichirou was asleep in the next room.

Stupid things. Useless things, but he can’t forget them; not even when Seth’s hand curls on his neck and pulls him in.

At least this is familiar. Riko throws himself into Seth the way he throws himself into ignorant bliss, and it feels just the same. Maybe better. Seth laughs a little when Riko clinically throws Seth’s legs over his shoulders, hands on his thighs as he leans in.

Seth deserves good things, Riko thinks, and that’s where he leaves the thought as he slides his tongue against Seth’s skin. Seth’s fingers pull his hair, a nice, sharp burn that lingers like the lazy pleasure building up in Riko’s veins.

It’s nice to slide his hands over Seth’s hips, past the hard line of his cock and over the swell of muscle that is his stupidly nice abs. Riko thinks he could never touch the way Seth touches him, but he can do his best to approximate it because Seth is very close to beautiful.

The sounds he makes are nice, too.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Seth breathes, a little less sound than air. It’s more than encouraging; it sends a shiver up Riko’s spine. “Shit—”

Different. There’s something different, no mistake about it, and Riko cannot figure out why it is so good. Why it matters that Seth is willingly lying back on the bed, completely unaware or uncaring of the way he twists on the sheets.

 _Unfair,_ Riko thinks, and he shouldn’t be so hard already, but he is, so he leans back—

—and he snaps his fingers without thinking, but _Seth knows what it means anyway,_ and he grumbles as he snatches lube from the bedside table to throw at Riko.

He should be reaching for a condom, too, but then he waves hand and says, “I went to get tested with Kevin this week. You obviously go regularly.”

“I— _what_.”

“Oh, please. I have eyes. Also, your brother was on the phone with his boyfriend when I called him earlier today. There’s no way he wouldn’t make you go, and you’re too anal not to.”

“Rich,” Riko manages, “from the one who’s in the position to receive.”

Seth shrugs, _no big deal,_ and that is what Riko thinks is the most perplexing change he can’t wrap his brain around. Everything is important because nothing should be.

“Hey, I do enough work as it is. You going to get a move on, or are you tired already?”

It’s probably a genuine question. Riko snaps the lube open and stares Seth down. “You have a big mouth, you know. I don’t know why people insist I’m the troublemaker.”

“Because you are. Anyway, you didn’t mind my big mouth earlier.”

Riko slides two fingers into Seth just to shut him up. It has the opposite effect; Seth laughs delightedly, the noise tumbling and lowering into a moan. Riko distantly wonders if this is what it’s like for Seth to fuck him—if this is the reason Seth sometimes looks distracted or caught.

Doesn’t matter, Riko tells himself, and he moves on stubbornly. He stretches until Seth is cursing at him and then he moves his hand away, suddenly very aware of what he is about to do.

Seth’s hand is on his hip before he can say anything. “You don’t have to, you know.”

 _I know,_ Riko wants to say, but that’s not the point. The point is that Seth is checking and that’s wonderful and frustrating at the same time, because he should be focused on himself. On what he wants and needs.

That’s what this was supposed to be about. Want and need.

“Don’t move,” Riko says, and he thinks he might be whispering. He’s not sure. It’s been too long since he’s been the one doing this and somehow, it feels like the stakes are higher.

At least the muddled way his brain shifts when he pushes into Seth blocks out the doubt. Seth is hot and tight and a hundred different things Riko can’t name at once. His hand is tight on Riko’s side and the other one digs into the sheets, twisting them desperately.

Riko moves and something leaves his mouth unbidden—a faint sound of pleasure that gives away too much. He only hopes Seth won’t remember it later. For now, Seth just leans up on his elbows to kiss Riko, tongue and teeth clashing as they go. It takes about three seconds for Seth to give up as another moan renders his mouth useless to do anything but open.

“Shut up,” Riko says, but his voice cracks and tumbles like his will. “I hate you.”

And _why,_ why does he say that; it makes no sense and it should end things immediately, but Seth just curls his hand tighter like he wants to leave an imprint.

“Hate me harder,” Seth whispers. “Until you break.”

“Or _you_ do,” Riko growls, fighting every step of the way, and he moves faster because there is nothing else to do to get Seth to _shut up_ and make all the thoughts go away.

Riko gets lost between Seth’s hand and the press of his thigh against Riko’s side. The way the sheets are stained with a soft pink, Seth’s hair leaving behind paintbrush strokes of color. Riko fucks into nothing but feeling; he lets go and knows Seth will be there, ready to pull him from where he’s floating—

—and Riko curls a hand around Seth to jerk him off, rough and unmeasured because he can’t pay attention and Seth doesn’t need much to finish. Riko comes harder than he expects, a blinding white making his vision blurry while his ears ring. And Seth—

—Seth _shouts,_ his back off the bed and a curse on his mouth as he frays and snaps under Riko’s touch.

It might be something Riko wants a picture of, the way Seth is sprawled on the bed, chest heaving; his rose hair and rosier blush, the cum spilled on his stomach and leaking from where Riko pulled away.

And Seth _doesn’t look uncomfortable._ He doesn’t look self-conscious or uneasy or even dismissive. He just lays there and _basks_ , like Riko is the sun and this is what warmth feels like.

“Not bad,” Seth finally sighs, his eyes sparkling as he grins up at Riko. “But it’s your bedside manner that counts for half the grade.”

He should say something.

Say _that was good,_ or _I want to do that again sometime,_ or _I want this for me, too_. Riko should say any number of things and maybe make some promises or ask some questions, but—

—he needs to wash Seth’s hair and Ichirou will be home, soon.

So instead, Riko says, “I’ve never been the best student. But I do have a good tutor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey did u sign up for feelings cause neither did i


	13. Careful

It’s around one o’clock when Seth hears someone talking shit.

He vaguely registers the glance thrown at Riko and the comment about _what a whore_ , _can’t believe he’s the reason they broke up_. Seth doesn’t pay attention to the end of the comment. He’s a little too busy punching the shit out of the guy.

The guy goes flying into a locker. He hits it with a clang and then there are immediate shouts and excited cries.

Seth hasn’t fought anyone in a while. He never went looking for fights to begin with, no matter what other people thought. It was always about who said something and what they said.

“Fucking _bastard_ ,” the guy yells, and then he is struggling to his feet to hit back.

Seth doesn’t wait for him to get up. He _doesn’t want_ to fight. That’s never been what it’s about.

He uses his boot to push the guy’s chest and shove him into the lockers. He stares down at the stranger; doesn’t know his name and doesn’t care to. “Be quiet.”

“Fuck y—”

“I said, _be quiet,_ ” Seth repeats lowly, pressing harder. The guy chokes on his retort, hands struggling to push Seth’s foot off. Seth ignores him. “Not that my life is any of your business, but you’re wrong.”

Seth beckons. He thinks Riko is a few steps away; he does not take his eyes off the guy on the ground long enough to check and see. Riko comes closer and Seth waits, pausing for effect, and adds more pressure. “Apologize.”

“Fuck—”

“Didn’t work last time,” Seth says, pressing harder. The guy wheezes. “Won’t work now.”

There is a beat of silence. The stranger looks up in red-faced anger. The gathered students are laughing and giggling, their phones pointed in their direction. There will be pictures all over school by the end of the day.

Not that Seth cares about humiliation. It’s just an effective warning.

“I’m sorry,” the guy spits from between gritted teeth.

“Unconvincing,” Seth says drily, but he withdraws his foot. “But I’ll accept it, since you’re clearly a fucking moron. Let’s go.”

Maybe it’s overkill to sling his arm over Riko’s shoulders as he leaves, but he does it anyway.

* * *

“You’re staring.” Seth sighs and tosses his book aside. They have a week’s respite after tests, so most classes aren’t doing much. He is trying to get a jump on the next week’s work.

Trying.

Riko immediately looks away, then looks back stubbornly, because he can’t show anything he thinks of as a weakness. “Who says I was looking at you?”

“You’re a bad liar,” Seth replies. Riko’s chin feels much nicer than the book, anyways. He curls his hand around it and pulls Riko in for a kiss.

He probably should not get so excited about a kiss. About kissing, in general. There are more obviously satisfying things in life, but—

—but, this is one thing that is simple. Easily accessible. Riko has never pulled away and he doesn’t now, instead tilting his head and parting his lips with a hot breath against Seth’s mouth.

It’s nice weather. Winter still hangs around, but in the south, it’s more of a breeze than a chill. March is sunny and temperate, so far.

Which reminds him. Prom is in two months.

Seth pulls back a little, considering the question, and finds Riko’s disgruntled pout too enticing to focus on a conversation. He pulls Riko into his lap to kiss again instead, because there is time for asking another time.

For now, he wants to enjoy the body before him.

* * *

Riko is sick.

Seth looks down at his phone, bemused by the text— _fcking sick, not going in 2day_ —and taps his shoe against the floor of his car. He hums to himself and pulls out of the school parking lot, waving to Matt on his way out.

“He’s like a puppy when he’s sick,” Neil said in the morning. “You feel bad for him. But he’s also an asshole, so.”

Seth doesn’t own much, but he made a point to stock up on kitchenware when he took up residence in his trailer. Cooking is usually cheaper than going out, so he figured it was smarter to buy pots and pans to make things in bulk.

Which is how he ends up dumping things into a pot on his tiny stove. It’s an approximation of tortilla soup, kind of. There’s enough spice to probably help clear out whatever issue Riko is having. Maybe.

Seth calls on his way over.

“Hi. Did Neil tell you, or did he? Riko is dramatic when he’s sick,” Ichirou says drily.

Seth snorts. “Neil said he’s like a puppy.”

“…Neil is kind. Kinder,” Ichirou corrects, huffing in amusement.

“Both,” Seth answers. It’s a little hard to hear with Ichirou on speaker, but he hits a red light and silence for a moment. “I’m bringing soup. Is he awake?”

“Oh, yes. He has made his inability to sleep abundantly clear. He’s grumpy when he hasn’t slept.”

“He’s grumpy, you mean.”

Ichirou snorts. When he speaks again, his tone is curious. “You don’t have to come by. You might end up sick as well.”

“Oh, good. More excuses to be a truant delinquent.”

“Sure.” Ichirou isn’t buying it, not that it matters. Seth doesn’t even know how he would begin to trick him. “We’ll be expecting you, then.”

* * *

Riko’s scowl is less intimidating, paired with a red nose and eyes. He curls his knees up to his chest under his blankets, dipping his chin behind them to hide half his face.

“What are you doing?” Riko’s voice is muffled by sheets, but his unsteady glare is easy to read.

Seth shrugs. “You’re either a nightmare princess or a kicked puppy when you’re sick. Reports are conflicting. I was curious.”

Riko scowls at the door and then sneezes. He grumbles, hiding his face, and blindly gropes for the tissue box at his side. After he blows his nose, he squints at Seth. “What’s that smell?”

“Soup.”

It’s funny Riko didn’t notice it before. Seth brings the bowl over, careful not to spill as he walks. Riko just sits there, bewildered and sniffly, and accepts the soup. “…you made soup?”

“You sound so shocked.”

“Didn’t think you could make anything other than a mess.”

“I can make you—”

“Don’t finish that thought,” Riko warns, but he is congested. He sounds miserable.

Seth lowers himself onto the foot of the bed and crosses his legs while Riko suspiciously eats a spoonful of soup. Seth would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for a response.

“…good.”

“I’m sure the soup appreciates your compliment.”

Riko throws a balled-up tissue at Seth. It’s gross, but it’s not bad. A few months ago, Seth thinks he would have punched someone for doing the same thing. Not now, and especially not Riko.

Especially not.

Riko rolls his eyes and looks up at Seth. There’s a hint of hesitation in his posture, but it saps away faster than it ever has before. “Thanks.”

“Be still, my heart.”

Riko throws another tissue.

* * *

Seth wakes up at the foot of Riko’s bed. He forgets for a second where he is and tenses, looking for pairs of legs in the bed and a crack at the bottom of the bedroom door. His hands curl into the sheets.

“You should go home,” Riko says quietly. He still sounds congested. He scrolls through his phone, the light illuminating his face with high-contrast light and shadow.

Seth frowns and pulls the phone out of his hands. “You shouldn’t be using a screen. You need rest.”

“It’s just a cold.”

“Then let’s get you warm.”

Seth pushes himself off the bed and kicks his shoes off as he goes. He really should go home and change, or at least eat, but he doesn’t want to. There’s pink hair dangling in front of his eye from rolling on the bed, but he ignores it and concentrates on Riko.

Riko is just as surprised as before when Seth inches next to him in bed. He pulls the sheets over them and moves his arm behind Riko’s head. They fit perfectly this way, Riko’s head tucked between Seth’s chin and chest. It’s probably not even seven o’clock, but Seth doesn’t care.

He’s tired. He is tired of being in school and tired from fighting so long. Giving in is nice, he’s recently discovered, and this is just another one of those things he wants to give in to.

“You’re going to get sick,” Riko whispers. His hand curls in Seth’s shirt. He might be sniffling or maybe crying. Seth doesn’t know and leaves it that way, aware of how close they are. How important this is.

He’s not an idiot. He knows what Riko’s family is. What they must have been like. He knows how they changed Riko and he knows the aftereffect. Knows how little Riko thinks of himself and what he means to others.

It is hard to value yourself when no one else ever has.

“If I do, it’ll be worth it,” Seth murmurs, and he leaves it at that.

* * *

Two days after he returns to school, Riko is nearly hit by a car.

It goes like this: Riko strolls into the crosswalk, unworried and unhurried, and then a car screeches as the brakes are hit.

Seth doesn’t think. He was a few steps behind Riko, but the distance is nothing to him when he sees the car. He jerks forward and lifts Riko out of the way, pulling him back, arms around his chest. Seth makes no conscious decision to do it; he just _does_.

“Asshole!” He yells, kicking the bumper of the car. The guy inside has the grace to look embarrassed.

Seth carries Riko to his truck and—again—does not think twice about it. Not until he’s at the passenger door and Riko is clearing his throat. Seth sighs, but he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t want to, yet.

“Think you overreacted much?” Riko lifts an eyebrow.

Seth curls his hands tighter. “No.”

“I probably would have been fine.”

“I don’t care about probably.”

“Why does it matter?” Riko huffs. He kicks his legs halfheartedly.

It matters. It matters, so Seth lets Riko onto the ground and looks him right in the eyes. Waits until Riko recognizes his gaze and allows it.

He could say a dozen different things. There’s a lot he hasn’t said, only because Riko has skirted away from everything and Seth isn’t going to push. He’s too afraid of what might happen if he does. He has evaded all the sore spots and uncertain places with determined precision.

There is only one way to really soften the blow, so Seth crosses his arms and says, “I fucking care about you. It matters to me. _You_ do.”

He can see the sharp blade of panic slice through Riko’s composure. The knee-jerk reaction of a voice probably telling him _no_. It is there and gone in the blink of an eye, leaving Seth to handle the fractured mess it creates.

“You sure treat your fuck buddies well, I guess.” Riko laughs, but it’s a little too bright. He glances away, then yanks the car door open. “Come on. I have to get home.”

They haven’t broken, Seth thinks. He doesn’t know if they will, or if they should, but he knows they are fine for now. So he climbs into the driver’s seat and leaves the conversation in the past, where it belongs. Where they can both ignore it and Riko can pretend this is just about sex.

It’s going to take some time to convince Riko to say anything, but he hasn’t run away yet. So, maybe they still have hope. Maybe just a little.

Seth hopes so. He’s starting to forget what life was like before they met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, i got angst in the salad


	14. Hurtful

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** this chapters begins with a brief scene which might be triggering to some; warning for minor panic attack-characteristic; skip to end for summary if necessary ***

Riko stares into the mirror and laughs, but it’s not funny. Seth saying he cares is not funny.

“It finally happened,” Neil says dreamily from the bathroom doorway. “You’re insane.”

Riko can’t unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth to say anything. He can’t figure out what he feels, much less how to answer Neil.

That’s a half-lie. He _knows_ what he feels. He knows he’s started to stare too much at Seth’s curl; he knows he can’t forget the smile on Seth’s lips right before they kiss, and he knows he loved the way it felt to have Seth hold him while he was sick.

Want is not something he is supposed to have. Want was punished. Everything he deserved, he was supposed to have, and this is not one of those things. It can’t be.

Riko realizes Neil is holding his face. He hears a familiarly unfamiliar language—Polish—and knows what Neil is saying only because he looked it up once. “My flower.”

It made Riko angry when he first found out. He hated that it was fragile or short-lived. That he could be compared to something so easily bruised. Except Neil had told Riko a day later that his favorite flower was poisonous, and that made him pause.

“My flower.” Neil speaks in English then, but he is just as soft with his words as before. “Look at me.”

Riko tries. He looks at his brother and all the things that are different about them; Neil’s red hair, his freckles, the blue of his eyes. The way his nose turns up just a little at the tip.

He finds similarities, too. Old scars visible and unseen. The way Neil watches carefully but knows too well what he is looking at. They are the same breed of broken, even if their cracks are in different places.

“Good,” Neil murmurs. “See? You’re here. With me.”

Riko shouldn’t—he shouldn’t lean on Neil, doesn’t want to be another burden—but he does. He pitches forward until Neil cradles him close to his chest. They are collapsed on the floor of the bathroom like condemned buildings, but somehow, they are not demolished. Not yet.

“You don’t have to do anything.” Neil is quiet, but his voice is firm, and Riko wonders when he became so wise. “But whatever you do or don’t do, I want you to be happy. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll kill him if you want me to.”

Riko laughs messily. “I know.”

* * *

He wakes in the morning to find a missed call from Seth. There’s no voicemail, so it’s probably not important. Still, Riko frowns and taps a fingernail against his phone. He cannot decide whether to call back.

It’s been three days. They have the day off—a Monday free, which usually means spending the day together.

Except Seth has backed off since Riko’s near-panic.

Riko sighs and flings his sheets away before rolling out of bed. He dials as he leaves his bedroom, rubbing his eyes. Ichirou is in the living room and there are waffles in the kitchen. There’s bacon, too. Everything smells good and Riko realizes it’s almost one o’clock.

The phone rings three times. He frowns as he reaches for a plate. The line rings again.

There is no answer. Riko squints at the screen and considers dialing again. He bites his lip and his finger hovers over the green button.

“I’m going to visit Matt,” Neil announces as he comes in, yawning a little. He bends to kiss Ichirou’s cheek.

“Brush your teeth,” Ichirou says, vaguely affronted but mostly affectionate.

“I’m just going to eat anyway.”

“Heathen.”

“He picking you up?” Riko frowns at his phone and tucks it away.

Neil pauses in the middle of stabbing a waffle. It almost falls on its way to his plate. “I don’t know yet. Seth’s at his place, I think. He might come by after he drops him off. If he does.”

“Seth’s with Matt?” He shouldn’t be surprised. They’re friends. “How do you know?”

He is being stupid. He knows this. He wants his mouth to stop. He shouldn’t be saying this, or anything that sounds remotely jealous.

_Jealous?_

Neil stops assembling his breakfast completely to squint at Riko. He is annoyingly good at hiding most things from his brothers; emotions and thoughts. It is why Neil is so unsettling when he says sweet things after maintaining a neutral expression. It is rare that Neil’s passive demeanor entirely cracks.

This is one such time.

There’s a flash of confusion, followed by annoyance and conflict. He might be a little bit mad, but Riko doesn’t know if it’s at him or Seth. Or Matt. Riko doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

What he _does_ know is that Neil knows, and he isn’t going to say anything.

“I know because he told me. You should be talking to him about it.” Neil doesn’t clarify who _he_ is, but Riko doesn’t care.

He shouldn’t care about any of it, he tells himself, and he stabs two waffles. He pretends not to notice when Neil texts at the table, a little furrow between his brows from whatever conversation he’s having.

Riko does not care. He does not care.

He does not care that he’s seen the way Matt and Seth are close, Matt slinging an arm over his shoulder when they stand around the hallways at school. Riko does not care that Seth sometimes pushes Matt’s head with his hand, a casually intimate touch that he never seems to notice.

Riko does not care that Matt has known Seth longer or that he is very obviously appreciative of the way Seth looks sometimes because _sure, it’s fine, anyone with eyes could see that_ —

—and _he might care a little bit._

Riko finishes his breakfast and retreats to his room to throw on a jacket. He jams earbuds in and throws a pillow under his chin as he lies there and lies to himself.

It’s easier that way.

* * *

Seth glances at Riko for the fifth time. “All right,” he finally says. “What is it?”

“Why does there have to be an it?”

“There’s an it.”

“There isn’t an it. Why do I need an it to be in a bad mood?” Riko wants to slap himself. He wants to ask _why the fuck are you opening your mouth_ , because the more he does, the more obvious his irritation becomes.

Seth’s mouth flattens into a thin line. He turns the wheel away from the school and toward the road that leads to his trailer.

They’ve skipped a few times before. It’s always been easy enough to pull off, like Seth’s hoodies over his head or Riko’s jeans—

—but this is not for today.

“Stop.”

Seth blinks, but he pulls over. They’re a mile away from the convenience store by Seth’s trailer. The place they go for snacks when Riko stays over for the weekend, Pringles and soda and cheap ramen Riko always insults and always promises to make right for Seth.

There’s too much.

“What?” Seth is quiet. Patient, which he should not be, and _why is he patient if he doesn’t care?_

Riko drums his fingers on his legs. He doesn’t want to say this thing, but he has to say this thing, or it will eat him from the inside out.

Which is why Riko blurts, “Did you and Matt have sex yesterday?”

Seth’s eyes go wide. He makes a startled noise, not formed into a word. “What—why do—?”

“I mean, he’s not blind,” Riko continues, and it comes out in a rush too fast to control now, like the panicked tumble of notes in a choir warm-up. “I think everyone but you wasn’t blind before recently, which is another issue, but he’s supposedly your best friend or something and I know he’s not straight—”

“Wait, wait,” Seth replies, holding a hand up, clearly lost. “I—”

Riko can’t stop. He can’t and _that_ is his problem. “I just wanted to know, because it seemed like recently…he…you…”

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

He wants to laugh and maybe cry. He wants to hit his head and figure out just how he missed this. How he didn’t realize _why_ Seth changed. What might have prompted it.

Considering they were on shaky terms for three days and Seth was at Matt’s place for at least two of those that Riko knows, he has a pretty good idea of what might have happened.

“I should have said something,” Seth mutters. He rubs his hand on his forehead miserably and Riko thinks his ears might be ringing. This doesn’t seem real. “You said we weren’t exclusive or dating. I didn’t have to, but I should have.”

 _You said it didn’t matter,_ a nasty voice reminds Riko, and he wants to throttle it. He really, _really_ does not want to care.

“It was one…”

Seth trails off. There is a very clear _oh, shit_ moment on his face and Riko _does_ want to laugh. He wants to laugh because of course, there would be something even worse Seth hasn’t said, because _Riko_ decided this thing between them didn’t matter and so, why would Seth say it?

Except Seth’s mouth flattens into a line and he says, “Neil was there.”

Riko throws the car door open and jumps out. He thinks this is the closest he has felt to the physical embodiment of _nope_ in his miserable life.

“Hey—”

He’s not sure where he wants to go, or where he should go. He is not entirely sure what is happening.

He is not supposed to care.

He really doesn’t, if he disconnects himself from it all—he doesn’t care that Seth fooled around with someone else, or _someones_ else, because if this is the person that came out of that, how could it ever be bad?

Only, it’s easier to be happy for Seth in his brain than it is to tell his goddamn heart to calm the fuck down.

“Hey. I’m not going to chase you if you need room,” Seth says, a little breathless from sprinting. Riko realizes he’s standing in front of the convenience store. He doesn’t remember walking there.

Riko blinks. “This is my fault.”

The second the words are out, he wants to vomit.

They’re true. He said it at every turn—to himself, to Seth, with everything he did. He pulled away and fought and refused to accept every gentle prod.

Riko couldn’t handle what Seth was willing to give him and now, it doesn’t really matter.

“It’s not your fault,” Seth says, pained. “It’s fucking stupid, okay? I shouldn’t have kept it a secret. Especially not after—”

“After what? After you fucked me again?”

“I did it because you pulled away,” Seth says firmly. “That’s not your fault. But I did it because I needed to know if you were the only one I felt like this about.”

Riko thinks his ears are ringing louder. He needs something else. Not this. Not opening his mouth and saying, “Like what? Horny?”

“Yeah, you know, I wasn’t aware that I was bi, before,” Seth says raggedly. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It wasn’t fucking easy, okay? But—”

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” Riko breathes, throwing his hands in the air. “It took you long enough. Jesus Christ, Seth, did you not know before me? I mean, I suppose I’m flattered. It’s just not the first time.”

Seth takes a step back. There is something shuttered in his expression. “You aren’t listening, are you? You’re too pissed.”

“I’m not pissed,” Riko replies, laughing, but it feels unsteady in his chest. “You can fuck whomever you please. I don’t get to control that. I’m just surprised it took you this long and— _and a threesome_ —”

“I can’t talk about this right now.” Seth takes another step away, keys in hand. “You’re pissed, and this isn’t going to work. I’ll drop you off—”

“Oh, don’t worry. Ichirou knows where you live. I’ll have him pick me up. In the meantime, you can absolutely explore your sexuality and Matt’s dick. We’re not exclusive, remember?”

This might be what the sound of nailing a coffin shut sounds like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Riko thinks way too much about Seth saying "I care" and Neil calms him down by saying "my flower" in Polish. Later, Neil mentions Seth is at Matt's. Final scene is Riko realizing Matt and Seth fucked, then Seth explaining the threesome. Riko is all kinds of messed up and they part ways after an argument.))
> 
> ***
> 
> hi how are you  
> sorry about the angst


	15. Hopeful

“Was I totally wrong?”

Matt shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“That’s not helpful.”

Seth turns his face into the bedsheets. _We’re not exclusive, remember?_ He hasn’t seen Riko for three days, since the argument. Part of him keeps wanting to chase—to find Riko, sit him down, make him explain. Make him understand.

He can’t make Riko do anything, though. He shouldn’t.

Matt sighs. His hand combs through Seth’s hair, warm and wide. “Things might be messy, but in the end, it comes down to what you agreed. If he said it was open, it was open. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I thought he wanted more,” Seth mumbles into the sheets. “I should have said something, no matter what he said.”

“No.” Matt tugs at his hair a little. “If he was lying, that’s on him. He can’t change his mind to make you feel guilty. It’s manipulative.”

“And if he didn’t do it on purpose?” Seth thinks about the convenience store. The way Riko had practically run away from the confession.

Even before, Riko had pulled away when Seth said he cared. “I thought—I know he came from a bad place. He’s messed up.”

“So were you.” Matt tosses something aside; a book, from the sound. Seth turns his head sideways to look. Matt’s chin is on the bed. He stares back at Seth, patient. “It’s not an excuse. You don’t have to be a casualty of whatever war he’s fighting.”

Seth smiles crookedly. “I think I threw myself in front of the bullet, to be honest.”

Matt snorts. “Sounds like you.”

On the floor, Matt’s phone buzzes. Delivery. He glances at the screen and starts to unfold his legs, stretching as he goes. Seth turns back into the bed, tired.

“Talk to Kevin.”

Seth nearly cramps his neck from looking up so suddenly. “What?”

“He knew Riko for a while, as a kid.” Matt shrugs. “Talk to him. Maybe he’ll know what to tell you.”

* * *

They’re in the locker room after school. Most people are gone, but Kevin is still there, a towel around his waist as he attempts to dry his hair.

It’s not as if they don’t talk. Riko was—is—friends with Jeremy, so Seth’s been around Kevin outside of school. In school, too. Maybe they’re not as close as Seth is with Matt, but Kevin’s become a little more manageable since he started dating Jeremy and Jean.

“Hey.”

Kevin almost drops the deodorant he’s holding. It’s weird. He catches it and glances at Seth, his mouth a suddenly tense line. “Yeah?”

“You…don’t have to talk to me,” Seth replies, startled. He’d be lying if he didn’t say there was a twinge of hurt at Kevin’s reaction.

 _Did Riko talk to him? Oh, God._ Seth considers running to the showers. Maybe he’ll break his neck, and this will all be over.

Kevin’s eyes widen. “No, I—it’s fine. Did you…need something?”

This is more awkward than Seth anticipated. He briefly considers backing out entirely.

Except he _can’t_ , because he has this question, and it keeps burning him in his sleep and while he eats and any time he takes a goddamn breath.

“It’s…well, I—Matt says you used to know Riko.”

He probably shouldn’t have blurted it in one go, but it’s out, now. Seth isn’t sure where to go with the information. If there’s anywhere to go. What would he even ask? _Was he always good at sabotaging relationships? Is it just me? He’s so close to his brothers, but he shoves me away all the time._

_Did he ever care? Or was he right when he said he didn’t?_

_Was I wrong?_

Kevin shuts his locker slowly. “Yeah. His family is not the most forgiving. He has always been held to a high standard, but never respected. He is a second son.”

“Only second?” He doesn’t mean to be dismissive. It’s just an interesting comment, especially with Seth’s family. His siblings.

“I don’t know what’s changed, other than his readiness to run his mouth.” Kevin shrugs. _Guess I don’t have to worry about tact._ “It’s surprising he hasn’t been around the school more. I mean—he used to have a nice revolving door of partners. Maybe he looks elsewhere.”

Well.

_Well. I guess that answers it._

Seth almost laughs. He is entirely certain Kevin knows nothing about the argument, or why Seth is asking. He probably thinks this is just a random question.

“I meant to say,” Kevin adds, coughing uneasily. He gestures vaguely at Seth’s hair. “It looks nice.”

“It’s been, like, a week.”

“I kept forgetting,” Kevin replies, faintly irritated, but his cheeks are red.

 _Wait a minute._ Seth blinks, suddenly aware of how half-dressed they are and Kevin’s furtive glances. “Wait a minute—”

“I need pants for this conversation,” Kevin mutters.

Seth laughs. He isn’t sure what kind of twilight zone he walked into or what is happening, but this is far easier to think about than Riko or how little Seth matters or—

—or _everything_.

So, Seth shoves away everything he should probably be facing and decides he’s earned a moment of nothing. A moment of feeling fine again, appreciated at least in one way. At least enough to make him laugh.

“I can’t believe the discerning Kevin Day thinks I’m cute,” Seth jokes, rolling his shirt in his hands as he walks closer. “With Jeremy and Jean, how do you even have time to look anywhere else?”

Kevin pauses and squints at Seth. “You’ve never looked in the mirror and at your mouth, have you?”

“My—”

“Forget it.” Kevin waves a hand in the air, apparently about to change the subject, but then he pauses. “You’re not…”

“What? Flattered?” Seth frowns. “I was just joking.”

“No, no.” Kevin turns, arms crossed over his chest. He’s squinting again. It’s funny. A little endearing, actually. “You’re not offended.”

Seth stares. The level of incomprehension he feels might rival Riko trying to do math—

—and he _is not_ going to think about that.

“Why…would I be offended?”

Kevin rolls his eyes. “You’ve never been a huge fan of Nicky, or anything gay in general.”

“Well, you’re bi, right?” Seth frowns. “I—”

“How do you know that?”

 _Well. Shit._ Seth could probably misdirect Kevin, but…well. It’s more interesting to see what happens if he tells the truth. “I guessed. I mean, you’ve dated girls before. Anyway, I had a suspicion. Takes one to know one and all.”

Kevin nods vaguely. He is still looking at Seth. A little too closely, in fact.

“You do realize I expected you to punch me.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “Character development, Day. Happens to the best of us.”

“Right. But—”

 _Might as well. Right?_ “It wasn’t easy. Anyway, I…had help. From Matt. And Neil.”

“…both…?” Kevin trails off halfway through trying to ask, something like realization bleeding into his expression. His mouth wobbles a little.

“You’re trying not to laugh, aren’t you?” Seth accuses, incredulous.

Kevin _does_ laugh. It’s a nice sound and Seth can’t remember ever having heard it before. He likes it.

 _Hm._ Seth thinks he should probably move away. Or say something. He’s aware that Kevin is dating other people and Seth knows he shouldn’t jump into another tight spot after hearing everything he didn’t want to about Riko—

—but then Kevin tilts his head, a few strands of hair falling in his face, and says, “I’d like to try something.”

“What?”

“Well, it’s no use pretending I wasn’t curious. Could I kiss you?”

Just like that. As if it’s an easy question to answer. As if it’s writing a history paper and not _this._

Seth clears his throat and thinks he probably isn’t doing a good job of focusing. “I don’t think your boyfriends—”

“They’re aware,” Kevin says drily. His cheeks seem redder, if possible. “Jeremy especially agrees with me. About, um—”

“About my mouth,” Seth says faintly. _Right._

_Sure. This might as well happen._

Maybe it will help, Seth thinks. Anyway, it would be nice to feel something other than the dull thump of disappointment with every heartbeat. Maybe Kevin knows, because his hand comes to hold Seth’s chin. “Might cheer you up.”

“You sure think a lot of yourself,” Seth retorts, but his words stumble into a laugh. “Try me, then. I’m waiting to be impressed.”

 _Bad, bad idea,_ his brain says, but he shoves that thought away, because why not? Why not test things? He _does_ feel like shit. Apparently, Riko’s method of handling that problem is fucking around, so why not try? It’s not like they’re exclusive.

It’s not like Seth mattered.

At least Kevin is warm. He’s the same height as Seth, something Seth never noticed before, and they meet perfectly in the middle. There is something firm about his kiss, but he’s careful and slow, like he wants to be sweet. He _is_. It’s the most _Kevin_ thing Seth has ever experienced.

His eyes sting a little. Kevin pauses, pulling back. “Are you—”

Kevin might be about to ask _are you fine_ , or perhaps _are you crying_ , and Seth thinks neither is true. He manages to catch Kevin’s face in his hands and holds him there, one thumb over the mole below Kevin’s eye.

“I’m fine. Just—come here,” he mutters. He gives Kevin time to move, but he doesn’t.

If he keeps his eyes closed, Seth can imagine he is in a different world. He could pretend that he’s with Kevin. Or just having fun. Or anything other than what is true.

 _Fuck._ He might start crying.

For some reason, Kevin stops. He pulls back and then he’s being _pulled_ back, startled.

Jeremy is there. Seth blinks, still half-dazed. Jeremy doesn’t seem angry, or betrayed, or anything remotely negative. He looks at Seth, faintly concerned. Jeremy’s hand cautiously lands on Seth’s arm. “You are not okay.”

“What? I—”

His voice cracks. It breaks a little and something inside might break, too. Seth clears his throat and avoids Kevin’s suddenly stunned expression. Seth waves vaguely between the two of them, trying to figure out how to explain.

He ends up with, “It’s not—I’m—fine. Right. Sorry. That was stupid. But, I mean, nice. I’m going.”

Seth doesn’t know how he manages the spiel without running out of breath. He does run from it all, though, clothes in hand as he disappears to a stall, so he can change out of sight and earshot.

Out of mind, like everything he is trying not to think about.

* * *

It’s raining and freezing, and Seth is stranded on the side of the road. Of course, his truck would break down now. It would break down while he tried to get home after one of the shittiest days of his life so far.

Two weeks is probably the right number. If there was ever something, it’s gone now.

“Fuck.” He tries to pull the drawstrings on his hoodie tighter, but he can feel the rain on his neck. It’s permeating everything, cold and wet and unforgiving.

Headlights flash by him again. Only this time, the car pulls to a stop ahead of him, and Seth recognizes the car. Ichirou.

He isn’t sure he can handle Ichirou, but the person that steps out comes from the passenger’s side, and they are much smaller.

Seth is _absolutely_ sure he cannot handle Riko.

“Hey. Hey!” Riko repeats, probably because Seth is not turning around. “ _Hey!_ ”

“I’ve got this!” It is a very stupid claim. He clearly does not.

Riko stomps around to the front of the truck, where Seth has propped the hood open. His footsteps splash in the rain. Riko is wearing some sort of black coat, and it looks much nicer and better at keeping the rain out than Seth’s.

Funny.

“Hey. Hey, asshole—”

“ _Fuck off_ ,” Seth retorts, snapping, the heat seeping into his words. He can’t pretend not to hurt. Not with Riko _right there_.

There’s a glint of frustration in Riko’s eyes. _Good_ , Seth thinks, and then Riko says, “Look at me, you absolute _dick_ , I’m trying to _apologize_!”

“Seriously?!” Seth drops the flashlight in his hand. He thinks it rolls away, but he doesn’t care. He stares at Riko, incredulous. “You could have fucking fooled me. Take your two fucking weeks and fuck off.”

“Two weeks and three days,” Riko snaps hotly. His eyes look red, but that’s just the rain— _must be_ —because he wouldn’t feel bad. He can’t. “I’m serious. I’m goddamn trying.”

“You could try a little harder,” Seth hisses. “I don’t need your pity or your apologies. You made it clear the first time. My mistake for needing to hear it again.”

“I’m not apologizing for that!” Riko shouts, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I’m trying to say I’m sorry I acted like I didn’t care, because _I do!_ ”

“You could have fooled me, you—”

“I know, I _know_ I’m a piece of shit and I kept pushing you back every time you tried to get closer, and I’m sorry,” Riko gasps, everything coming out in a tumble. “I’m sorry I didn’t want to admit it even after you told me you cared. After you told me what this meant.”

“I just—need to know,” Seth says, and his voice might break on the last word, but he can’t care anymore. Cannot pretend he hasn’t already laid everything out for Riko. “That I’m not falling in love alone, this time.”

“You’re _not_ ,” Riko insists, and he _is_ crying, that’s obvious with or without rain. He is crying, and Seth thinks he might be, too, but he can’t think long enough to figure out. He is too caught in the moment—in this beat of silence before what might be the end. “You are not, because I care about you, and _I love you_.”

The rain should magically stop. Seth’s truck should start; someone should be clapping somewhere. Any number of romantic things.

But the rain continues, and the only choice Seth has is to wait—wait for Riko to gently tug him down so they can kiss, tentative and filled to the brim with broken promises.

Seth’s brain tells him not to. That going back is stupid, and there are more chances for pain than happiness.

There are still chances, though, and that’s all Seth needs. All he needs is the hopeful taste he finds in Riko’s mouth and the curl of a hand on his jacket.

When Riko pulls back, he presses his rain-damp forehead to Seth’s. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uhh yeah  
> also Mokita - Love Alone is totally the song for this round, go listen and feel emo


	16. Somewhere to Begin

“You know, ‘we should talk’ is usually how things end.”

Seth snorts and skirts around a splotch of wet earth. “They already did. Twice.”

It’s a little warmer than it’s been for the past few weeks. The rain has held back long enough for the sun to warm some of the puddles strewn about the school lawn, but no one wants to risk mud. Least of all Riko.

There’s not much important about today. Not even if it’s been exactly thirteen days since Riko made Ichirou pull over for Seth. Since Riko apologized and they somehow managed to make up, although that term is somewhat loosely applied, here.

Riko assumes this is why Seth wants to talk.

“So? What is it?” Riko swings the car door open and tosses his backpack on the floor of the passenger’s side. Seth climbs in after him, half frowning. He might be thinking of how to start.

Seth pushes his hair back, but the curl falls over his eyebrow again. Riko tries not to look too long. “We need rules. Boundaries.”

“Different ones,” Riko ventures cautiously. They have—or maybe _had_ —rules and boundaries. Simple ones that took only a few words to communicate, back when things were less complicated between them.

Well. Less serious.

Seth backs out of the parking lot before he answers. Riko tells himself not to look again, but it’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the line of Seth’s neck and the tan skin exposed when he turns his head. Seth doesn’t make it any easier when he throws his arm around the back of his seat.

“Your place,” Riko blurts. He probably shouldn’t say it, but he does, and he pretends to stare out the window when he is instead trying to catch Seth’s reflection.

Seth glances his way but doesn’t say anything else. He might take the direction as cue to wait until they arrive, which isn’t exactly what Riko meant. He was hoping to do something else when they arrived.

It’s too bad, but Riko resigns himself to the conversation he knows they need to have. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s defaulted to bad habits, but that’s the thing. They’re habits.

At least Seth waits until they take their shoes off to say, “Saying you don’t care is off-limits.”

“Ouch.” That particular bruise is still a bit sore, but then, it’s a good thing they’re talking about it. As long as they have words, Riko thinks he might be able to cling to them when he’s weak.

“Nothing changes about sex for me,” Seth continues, fishing for soda in his fridge. “I don’t mind if you don’t want a lot of PDA, just—don’t pretend things don’t matter.”

“Like making out with Kevin.” Riko smirks when Seth fumbles the cans.

That was an interesting conversation. They probably shouldn’t have talked about it the night Riko brought Seth home with him, but to Seth, it had been important. Which was understandable, given how Riko reacted to the last time Seth was with someone else.

With someone else. It never mattered before. In fact, it was better that way, Riko had thought. Better not to risk attachments when even a hint of misbehavior would earn him the full ire of his uncle. Simpler instead to

Riko pops the tab on his soda and crosses his legs. Seth’s bed is a familiar mess of worn blankets and nearly-too-flat pillows. He needs new things—new everything—but Riko doesn’t comment. He’ll just bring over blankets for Christmas by the dozens.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Seth says suddenly. Riko nearly chokes on his soda. “I know it’s impossible to promise that I won’t. People fuck up all the time—we’ve already fucked up several times. I just need you to know that I _am_ trying to avoid it.”

“I know.” Seth’s steady look is disbelieving. Riko curls his hand tighter around his drink and continues. “I _do_. I know, and I knew before. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

He taps his fingers on the can. Thinks about drawing back from this conversation or postponing it for another day. He knows if he asked, Seth would stop.

That’s probably the point.

Seth yawns and curls sideways on the bed, tucked around Riko’s crossed legs like an oversized cat. He rests his head on his bent arm, soft pink hair mussed.

Riko doesn’t think. He reaches out to touch, playing with the soft strands of Seth’s hair. He likes the small hum that escapes Seth’s throat and imagines it vibrates on his skin, soft and buzzing.

“Nothing is different. Nothing—” It’s not true. Riko licks his lips; slides his soda away. He finds Seth’s half-lidded eyes moving to rest on him, patient. Understanding. “I’m different. I want this to be.”

“How?”

“I want you to be mine.”

It’s a whispered confession, and he wants to take it back immediately. Wants to eat the words back up and swallow until they settle in the pit of his stomach, where they were burning a hole before. Riko wants to apologize and plead and—

—and then he doesn’t, because Seth pushes himself up and holds Riko’s face between his hands.

Seth holds Riko like he is something precious; like he can keep them both there forever through touch alone. This is not the first time Seth has touched him like this, but Riko thinks it’s the most important. The sweetest.

“I am,” Seth says, and he punctuates it with a kiss to Riko’s forehead. “Yours.” A kiss on one cheek. “I have been.” Other cheek. “For a long time.” Chin.

Seth pauses, smiling, and Riko almost can’t handle it. He nearly pulls away from what he sees, because it is impossible for someone to look at anyone the way Seth is looking at Riko. It is even more impossible for someone to look at Riko this way. To look like this is perfect, after all their mistakes and the pain and anger.

When Seth leans in again, Riko is fully prepared to start crying.

“Also your nose. It’s really goddamn cute. It owns me,” Seth whispers, his eyes comically wide.

“You _fucking_ nerd,” Riko gasps, but the mock confession breaks the spell over him. It sounds a little bit like glass breaking, but—

—it’s also a chime. A tangle of ringing notes that echo in his ears as he leans in, Seth’s palms warm on his cheeks as they kiss.

Third time’s the charm, he thinks, while Seth lazily kisses him back onto the pillows.

* * *

Riko is in the middle of class when the door bursts open. He stares as Kevin enters with Matt, whose shit-eating grin is barely contained.

“Excuse us,” Kevin says, not a question but a demand. He passes the teacher a note. “We’re here for Riko.”

Riko only waits until he’s guided into the hallway to say, “What the _fuck_?”

“This is _so good_ ,” Matt crows, and then his hands cover Riko’s eyes.

“The fuck—”

“Shh,” Matt hushes him, giggling when Riko stumbles. “Just follow.”

Kevin pulls Riko by the hand and they are walking through hallways, turning so many times Riko doesn’t know if he could ever figure out where they’re going.

When he is finally pulled to a stop, he recognizes the room by its smell. The scent of rosin and polish hangs in the air; if he tried, he could probably detect the old wood of the cabinets that hold the orchestra’s instruments. _What the hell?_

“Seriously. What’s—”

The sound of a chord being played on a piano interrupts him. It starts, and he _knows_ what song it is just as he hears the drums begin.

When Matt’s hands fall away, he still isn’t prepared.

Seth is playing piano.

_Seth is playing piano._

This is where he’s been for the past three weeks, Riko thinks dizzily, in the afternoons when Riko had choir and Seth insisted he could wait around campus for him to finish.

When Seth starts to sing, Riko thinks he might die a little inside.

He’s never heard Seth sing. He’s heard him hum in the car; heard him carry a tune. This is different. Maybe Seth isn’t a choir singer, but he sounds _good_ and _right_ somehow, and then Riko has to connect the image of Seth at the piano with the sound of someone singing—

— _So tell me when you’re gonna let me in_ —

—Riko thinks he might be crying; he knows he can’t say anything if he tried.

_And if you have a minute, why don’t we go talk about it somewhere only we know?_

He doesn’t care that Matt is probably recording him, or that the choir is there to sing the chorus as the song grows louder, a crescendo of music that rings in the classroom.

Riko doesn’t care that he can hear footsteps and people crowding around the glass walls of the room. That probably half the school is watching.

Riko doesn’t care about anything but _Seth_ , pouring his voice and his heart out over the piano like the stupid fucking romantic that he is, as if this won’t get him in trouble or wind up being the talk of the school for the next week.

Riko realizes just then that _Seth doesn’t care, either,_ and he’s only doing this for Riko. Just for him.

Just for _them._

When the song ends, and everyone is cheering, Riko is too numb to move. He only stands there as Seth walks around the piano, bringing a bouquet with him like he thinks he’s in some blockbuster romance movie.

Seth picks a flower off. He tucks it behind Riko’s ear and he hasn’t said anything— _why hasn’t he said anything_ —and then, he leans in.

Riko very nearly drops the bouquet Seth handed him. He wants to toss it aside just to hold Seth with both hands, but he settles for clinging with the one that’s free. He does cling, too, holding Seth’s shirt like he never wants to let go.

He _never_ wants to let go.

Seth breaks the kiss first, and he is breathless when he says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The first thing that Riko’s brain and mouth manage to form is, “It’s Valentine’s Day?”

He thinks Matt might be on the floor laughing behind him. He doesn’t care. Seth’s laugh is better anyway, and it tastes just as good as it sounds.

* * *

The Valentine’s drama, of course, is the talk of the school the next week. Riko can hardly escape the glances thrown his way. He partly expects some of them—the disbelief and curiosity.

It’s funny enough that after the week has passed and there are still a few jokes, Riko finally say something to Seth. “You’d think it would be obvious what a fool you are, after the pink hair.”

It takes Seth a beat longer than usual to say, “I think it was obvious when I started hanging around you.”

The moment of hesitation is what bothers Riko.

Before, he might have ignored it. Or buried it and let it fester, so it could culminate in a mistake like the arguments they’ve had before. Now, Riko fights to force his tongue into motion. To ask what he wants to.

“Does it bother you?”

“What?” Seth looks up, unfocused gaze suddenly steadier. “No. Fuck no. Why would I have done it if it bothered me?”

“You can change your mind.”

“I know. I haven’t.”

Still. Riko bites his lip but takes Seth’s answer for what it is. He might be looking too much into it. The seed of uncertainty is there, but he refuses to water it. He can at least do that.

They part ways after lunch and Riko is in Algebra, wishing he weren’t; wishing Seth were there to show him the problems. Or maybe just kiss him.

The sound of footsteps pounding down the hallway distracts Riko. When the door swings open, he expects it to be another stupid romantic gesture and he almost drops his head in disbelief.

Instead, Riko sees Neil, nowhere near out of breath despite clearly having run from the opposite end of the school. He’s in gym clothes still.

“Family,” Neil tells the teacher, and Riko is halfway across the room before Neil finishes.

Before the door shuts behind them, Riko is already asking. “What’s going on?”

“Seth,” Neil says shortly, and when he starts jogging, Riko follows. He almost runs.

“What happened?” Riko demands, his breath unsteady.

Neil’s mouth is a flat line. He doesn’t answer but instead squeaks to a halt at the nurse’s office. He opens the door and finds the nurse, chin tilted as if he isn’t nearly half a foot shorter.

“My brother is on his way. Let Riko in until then.”

The nurse looks like she’s heard this already. “He needs—”

“Let him in. Ichirou won’t appreciate it if you don’t.”

A low blow. Neil stares the nurse down; Riko takes the silence as permission and walks around them. He half expects a nightmare when he walks into the small room.

Riko finds Seth lying on the bed, curled sideways, a faint splotch of red below his nose.

Blood. It’s blood.

 _Bad idea_ , Riko’s mind tells him, but he reaches out to touch it with his fingers. It’s just barely dry; he thinks he can see little flakes come off.

Seth catches his wrist, a little slow. He mumbles, “What’re you doing here?”

“What is this?” His voice breaks. He doesn’t care, he—

— _cares_.

“Just sick. Overdid it, maybe.” Seth’s eyes open slowly. He blinks and Riko can see what was there at lunch, a little worse—the haziness. Like a fever.

Riko is on his knees. He doesn’t remember how he got there. He just whispers, “Is it bad?”

Seth laughs. He laughs and Riko wants to tell him to stop, but Seth says, “I mean it. I’m not terminally ill. Just terminally stupid, Neil says.”

“He’s right,” Riko mutters. The hazy film is everywhere, now, and he thinks he’s crying. “Don’t laugh. It’s not funny.”

“I know,” Seth says, soft. His smile is crooked and tired, but—

—but he’s fine. He will be fine, and Riko can feel himself sagging a little.

“I’m going to take you home,” Riko whispers, and he combs his fingers through Seth’s hair as he leans in. Seth’s forehead is hot against his, but it’s manageable. This is manageable.

_He’ll be fine._

Seth smiles a little, a slow sigh escaping through his nose. “Okay,” he mumbles. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, keane's somewhere only we know absolutely kills me okay


	17. Comfort

“Get up. Come on,” Ichirou repeats, a sigh dragging from his lips. He nudges Neil’s leg. Neil kicks him.

The hiss that leaves Ichirou’s mouth is followed by a grumble, and then Neil turns over and squints out from beneath his blanket cave. “’Mkay.”

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Ichirou warns, but he can’t bring himself to be too strict. Not with Neil’s bedhead. It’s adorable.

Riko is in the bathroom, frowning as he runs a finger along his bottom eyelids, adjusting the smudged liner there. Ichirou ducks in to remind him, “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes. Make sure you let Neil in.”

The only response he receives is a grumpy sound.

Mornings aren’t a favorite in their household. They would all prefer to be asleep, most times. Riko most of all.

They’re going out of town, though. Well—only an hour away, and it’s just to a shopping center with a few very specific, high-end retailers. Anyway, the school’s prom is in three weeks and Ichirou decided to take initiative and book them appointments at his favorite bespoke store.

While his coffee cools and his venti travel cup is filled with ice, Ichirou checks his phone. There is a message thread from Stuart pinned to the top of his inbox, and he stares at the last few texts with a half-smile. _I miss you. I’ll see you soon._

“I’m not hungry,” Riko announces as he slaps a jacket onto the kitchen table.

Ichirou just sighs and starts to pour his mocha into his cup. “Then ask your brother if he wants anything. If not, box it up.”

There are two small bowls on the table. Traditional, today, because Ichirou felt like rice and smoked salmon. The side dishes laid out are easy enough to store in the fridge, and he at least knows they’ll eat it all later.

“Just don’t complain if y—”

“You’re hungry later,” Riko and Neil both chime, from different parts of the house.

Ichirou rubs his forehead with one hand. He should probably be offended.

It’s been some time since they all went out. They usually do at the beginning of the school year, so Ichirou can buy the boys their clothes for the year. Supplies are ordered online, because it is simpler and smarter, so clothes are really the only thing they hunt for.

The first two years, he practically had to pick Neil’s wardrobe for him. Neil wouldn’t admit to liking or wanting anything. Riko was just too angry at the time to do anything but either pick the most expensive things or refuse to speak at all.

Things are better, now.

“What are we even doing?” Riko yawns as he snaps lids over the bowls on the table.

Neil finally emerges, warm and red from a shower. “You really weren’t paying attention yesterday, were you? Prom.”

Riko almost drops the bowls. Ichirou manages to catch them, shooting his brother a pained look. He only receives a wince and furious blush in response.

“I was a little preoccupied. Why prom? It’s not like I even know if I’m going, or—”

“Oh, shut up,” Neil sighs, tossing an apple at Riko’s head. It sails back to him and he bites into it lazily. “We both know you’re going.”

Before the apple war escalates, Ichirou snatches his keys from the counter. “Come on. I want to be back by eight.”

“Skype?” Riko glances at him, tapping on his phone with one hand and wiggling his other arm through his jacket.

“Yes. Time zones and all. Come on,” he prompts again, a little firmer.

It’s a blessing that Neil and Riko avoid teasing him about the call with Stuart. For once, they file into the car without much more protest, and Neil toes his shoes off to fold his legs against his chest as Ichirou pulls out of the driveway.

Neil falls asleep within five minutes and Riko within twenty. Ichirou just smiles to himself and turns the radio down.

It’s going to be a good day.

* * *

“Green,” Neil says immediately. He points to the ribbon beneath the glass case, a deep emerald folded into a delicate flower.

Ichirou raises his eyebrows. “You wanted a blue suit.”

Neil shrugs and tucks his hands back into his jacket. It’s actually Andrew’s; it has his name on the back and a few patches on it already. “He likes when I wear his color.”

 _Aw,_ Ichirou thinks, but he bites his tongue and nods to the man behind the counter. “Emerald. It will match the navy better.”

Neil wanders away from the counter and Ichirou waits for the flower catalogue to be brought up from under the desk. He catches Riko hanging in a nearby corner of the flower shop, phone in hand and shoulders hunched.

“Hey.”

Riko looks up; for a moment, a flash of guilt crosses his face. He moves closer to Ichirou, a faint line of worry drawn between his brows. “What?”

“Let him sleep,” Ichirou chides gently. “He had a fever of 104, Riko. He still needs a few days to come back down.”

“You don’t know I was texting Seth,” Riko mumbles, but it’s halfhearted at best. His hand clenches on his phone as he tucks it into his back pocket.

Ichirou wants to smile and maybe cry a little. He wonders if Riko remembers that Ichirou was there, when Seth and Riko managed to find each other in the rain. It was all very dramatic.

Dramatic, but kind of romantic.

If someone told him five years ago that Riko would have a steady relationship—and a _healthy_ one—Ichirou probably would have punched them in the mouth. He would have hated the reminder that Riko _couldn’t_ have that, because Ichirou had been too late to help, and he wasn’t strong enough to stop everything from happening to his little brother. To the one person he was meant to protect.

 _I am now_ , he thinks, and tries not to feel like it’s a cheap excuse. Ichirou will have to settle for being here _now,_ doing all he can to make sure his brothers are safe. Loved.

Riko frowns. “You’re making the face.”

“What face?” Ichirou briskly turns to open the book on the counter, mechanically flipping until he finds what he’s looking for. Flower arrangement was one of the arts he was required to master. To this day, he does not understand why.

“The one where you look happy but guilty. Stop it.” Riko whacks his arm with a rolled-up catalogue from God knows where. “Being happy isn’t something you have to feel guilty for.”

Ichirou laughs. It is startled and short, bursting from his lips in a sudden jolt. He’s not sure what he did to prompt this sudden role reversal, but it’s not bad. Not unappreciated, that Riko abandons his rolled-up paper to link his arm with Ichirou’s.

Of course, when Neil comes back, he seems to take their pose as an invitation. He squishes his cheek against Ichirou’s arm. By the time the clerk returns, Ichirou has to point out the flowers he needs with his arms occupied by two teenagers.

He wouldn’t make them get off for all the money in the world.

* * *

“You can’t,” Riko says. He turns to Ichirou, pleading. “Tell him he can’t.”

“Technically, it’s not against any rules,” Ichirou murmurs, head resting in his palm as he watches Neil check the size on a black crop top.

Riko makes a frustrated noise and throws his hands up. So dramatic, Ichirou thinks fondly. All because Neil is considering a crop top under his suit for prom.

“You’re just mad because you think they’re your thing,” Neil says idly. He manages to duck the sneaker that comes sailing at his head from the shoe aisle.

Ichirou snorts. “Riko. Shouldn’t you be looking for a choker?”

The other shoe comes at him.

They are all at a cheap store; something mainstream, with its trendy bits of fashion that are just a little better than terrible quality. It’s a good place to pick up copious amounts of anything, like the stupid high-waisted mom jeans Neil likes wearing with the cuffs rolled up. At least he’s making the vagabond look work now, Ichirou thinks, and Andrew seems to like it.

“I’ll need to know your plans as soon as possible,” Ichirou reminds Neil, flipping through restaurants and hotels on his phone as he speaks. “Booking will be simpler the sooner I do it.”

“He said he’ll come by two hours early,” Neil calls, voice muffled from the way his head is stuck between a massive jumble of shirts.

Ichirou hums, examining the restaurant names as he scrolls through. He considered making a reservation for both his brothers at the same place and decided it was a good plan, mostly because he enjoys the way Seth and Andrew interact and the way Riko and Andrew sneakily compete to be dramatic. They should all get used to each other anyway, he supposes.

Ichirou knows permanence when he sees it.

Of course, the hotels are because he would like a night of peace, and he does not think Betsy Dobson wants Andrew bringing Neil back to her house. Also, Seth’s trailer looks like it could fall over. So, Riko isn’t staying there.

“The things I do for love,” Ichirou mutters, tapping away at his phone.

Suddenly, there are hands sliding over his shoulders. Their weight is familiar, and so is the scent of cologne drifting from behind him. He almost chokes on the rush of emotion that hits him and then a low, accented voice says, “Yes. And we appreciate them all, love.”

Ichirou thinks he might make a noise, but it certainly isn’t Stuart’s name. He twists so violently in his chair that he nearly falls, but it is worth it to bury his face in Stuart’s chest. To breathe in the smell of worn leather and cinnamon while Stuart laughs, his arms just as steadying and firm as Ichirou remembers.

“Gross,” Riko announces, and Ichirou suspects his brother is taking pictures behind his back.

If he closed his eyes, Ichirou thinks he could imagine the sound of water breaking on cliffs. Grass at his ankles and sun warming his skin.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice a thin whisper as he clings to Stuart. Some childish part of him expects that if he lets go, Stuart will disappear.

Stuart hums; the rumble buzzes in Ichirou’s bones. “Thought I’d visit. I told you I missed you.”

Ichirou pulls back, laughing despite himself. “So, you flew halfway across the world because you missed me?”

“Of course,” Stuart says, completely serious. His blue-gray eyes are soft when he looks down at Ichirou, one hand pushing hair away from his face. “And I would go further.”

“Sap,” Neil says delightedly. Stuart beams and turns to his nephew, practically hauling him off the ground and into a hug.

Stuart and Neil look beautiful together. They always have, Ichirou thinks; Stuart, with his strawberry blonde curls and Neil with his red waves. Their twin gazes, Stuart’s grayer than Neil’s pure blue. Stuart looks like a softer, faded version of Neil—like a worn sweater, cozy and warm from years of use and love.

He feels like an old sweater to Ichirou. Comforting, constant, and a perfect fit.

Riko is staring, Ichirou notices. Interestingly, it is not just a stare—it is realization. Clear, blinding realization. Ichirou wonders what it is he’s realizing. What Riko had never seen, until this point.

Ichirou hopes it’s love.

“So, prom,” Stuart announces, pulling Riko into a brief hug. He is always gentle with Riko. It’s one of the reasons why Ichirou loves him so much. “What have I missed?”

“Neil wants to wear a crop top,” Riko announces, waving a hand in a familiarly cutting gesture.

Neil shoots back with, “Riko’s just jealous because he and Seth haven’t talked about prom, yet.”

Stuart chuckles. Riko frowns, and Ichirou can tell in that moment that it really _is_ bothering him. More than it probably usually would, but Ichirou guesses Riko has stopped pretending he doesn’t care about Seth or their relationship.

“I just don’t know how he’s going to top Valentine’s Day,” Riko says, shrugging carelessly.

“Why don’t you do something for him, for once?”

 _Neil said it, not me,_ Ichirou thinks to himself. He nearly laughs but contains the sound, threading his fingers between Stuart’s as he watches the scene unfold.

Riko blinks. A tiny flicker of uncertainty and guilt bleeds through and Ichirou sighs, beckoning him closer. Riko grudgingly steps closer, his fingers curled around the edges of his oversized jacket’s sleeves.

“You’re starting again, right?” Ichirou waits for Riko’s nod and smiles. “Then, do better, this time. It’s not too late to start doing better. In fact, it’s just the right time.”

It takes a minute for Riko to nod, and then he wanders off and drags a bemused Neil with him. They will probably talk, Ichirou thinks, and he’s glad to leave them to it. Especially when Stuart’s arms wind around him from behind again.

Ichirou turns in the embrace, humming. “You really didn’t have to come.”

“I did,” Stuart says simply. He waits a beat before adding, “You’re doing a fantastic job, you know.”

“Oh? At what?”

“Taking care of them.” Stuart’s hand combs through his hair, slow and soft, and there is a bubbling warmth rising from the pit of Ichirou’s stomach. “They may be too young to appreciate some of it, but it’s true.”

“I know they appreciate me,” Ichirou mumbles, but he can’t help the relief he feels.

“Still. You deserve to be told, often.” Stuart leans him back, a faint smile on his lips and something teasing in his eyes. His voice is lower when he adds, “And show. You deserve to be shown.”

 _Finally,_ Ichirou thinks, and then he relaxes into Stuart’s arms and kiss. Slow like pouring tea, he thinks, and laced with a low, hidden spice. Stuart is comfort and solitude, and Ichirou wouldn’t mind getting lost in him for a few hours, or a few days.

Years. The rest of his life.

“Any time I leave either of you alone,” Neil complains when he returns, probably shooting Riko an accusatory look. “Does being horny run in the family?”

“Yes,” Ichirou says evenly, when Stuart pulls away because he’s laughing too hard. “And it didn’t skip you, either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel soft and warm now


	18. I Will Become Yours

“I could ask at the concert. But—no. Too public. I don’t want to pressure him—”

“To what? Say yes to going when he probably already planned to?” Jeremy smiles, exasperated, and swings his legs up against the back of the couch. Upside-down, the golden blond length of his hair hangs down toward the floor.

Riko tosses a pillow at him, but it’s halfhearted at best and aimed toward Jeremy’s stomach.

One of Seth’s new rules is spending time with friends. _It’ll make you miss me,_ he had joked, his smile bright and his curl hanging over his eye. _And we both need friends._

Tonight, Seth is staying with Kevin to work on a history paper. Riko decided on a whim to visit Jeremy, lucky enough that Jean was finishing a project with Neil. It feels like a complicated tango of people, but Riko doesn’t mind the shuffling. It’s been a while since he had time with Jeremy, or a chance to relax.

“What prompted this, anyway?” Jeremy rolls onto his side, frowning at Riko, who is sitting cross-legged on the floor with popcorn between his legs. “It’s a good thing, of course. I’m just curious.”

Riko shrugs. Thinks about the mall and the look on Ichirou’s face when Stuart appeared out of nowhere.

Stuart. Riko used to hate him. Used to think he was useless at best and dangerous at worst. Riko would watch Stuart run his hand over Ichirou’s head when he visited and wanted to cut it off. Wanted to shove the older man to a wall and hold a knife at his neck; tell him _do not touch what is mine_.

Riko told himself _never again_.

Except his brother is not his to own, as much as he wants to keep him safe. Riko learned that lesson when he went to threaten Andrew and Andrew had been coming to threaten Riko just the same.

It was around that time that he started questioning what kind of brother he was, if someone thought he would hurt Neil.

“He sang for me,” Riko mumbles. “I just—I don’t know if I can say what I need to. But I can sing.”

Jeremy smiles, reaching out to tap Riko’s chin. “Then sing.”

* * *

“Oh, _God_.” Riko stares at his reflection, hands frozen midair over his button-down shirt. “This is the worst fucking idea I’ve ever had.”

“Probably.” Andrew throws a tie at Riko’s face. “Don’t worry. It’ll be recorded, so everyone will be able to look back on it when you fall on your face.”

“Fuck off.” It’s a weak reply. Riko lets the tie fall into his palm and drapes it over the mirror. He is going without for the night, because he doesn’t want to look _too_ formal, and he’s already dressed better than every other student that will be performing.

Neil appears in the doorway, humming appreciatively at the suit. Ichirou had tried not to smile when Riko submitted his request for a blush pink ensemble. It’s perfect for spring with an ivory turtleneck underneath, but the point isn’t fashion.

“If you’re competing to be sappier than your boyfriend, you may win for the night,” Neil muses.

Riko throws a sock at him.

“We are leaving in five minutes!” Ichirou yells from the kitchen.

 _This is a bad idea,_ Riko thinks again. He finds nothing out of place when he looks into the mirror, but his head feels like an upturned dresser drawer. There is a jumble of worries and fears lingering close to the surface. His brain is almost as overheated as a boiling pot.

A cracked laugh escapes his mouth. “This is great,” he says, and he doesn’t mean a word of it. “I _can’t_ wait.”

There’s a shuffling from the bed, and then Andrew is across the room. He hooks a finger in Riko’s collar and pulls him down—gently, shockingly, as if he doesn’t want to mess up Riko’s hard work.

“You do not need to do this.”

 _No_ , Riko thinks. But— “I want to.”

Andrew nods once, sharp and final. He lets Riko go and his hazel eyes wander away. “Good. Then stop being a fucking drama queen, and let’s go.”

* * *

Kevin insisted. He is a little _too_ excited, Seth thinks, to find something for him to wear. One phone call, and Kevin had waved away Seth’s complaints and finished his history paper for him in half an hour. They left just as soon as it was done, and now Seth is standing with Kevin in a store he can’t pronounce the name of, with clothes far too expensive for him to even look at.

“Come here.” Kevin extends a hand, not even looking up from the shirt sleeves he is holding.

Seth rolls his eyes but walks over, hands nervously tucked in his pockets. “You don’t have to—”

“I do. You’d be so distracting, sitting at the concert in a hoodie,” Kevin replies, nose wrinkled.

“I wasn’t going to wear a fucking hoodie, you dickwad.”

“Then come here.”

Seth ends up standing like a mannequin while Kevin squints critically, moving shirts in front of his chest one after the other as he attempts to make a decision that Seth does not fully understand the purpose of. “I think I liked you better when you had a crush on me.”

Kevin waves dismissively, apparently missing the joke. “Just because you don’t understand the importance of choosing vents doesn’t mean—”

“I prefer Italian,” Seth interrupts, crossing his arms over his chest. “No vents, but the European cut accentuates a smaller waist and heightens the drama of an inverted triangle. Less mobility, but more powerful.”

There is a beat of silence before Kevin returns the jacket in his hand to the rack and says, “Have. Not had.”

Seth laughs the entire way to the dressing room.

* * *

Seth can’t drive to the concert with Riko, because apparently, Riko’s rehearsal schedule for the day is a little chaotic. Seth is left instead to his own devices for the entire school day, forgetting at every turn that Riko isn’t there.

Friday passes in a blur and then Kevin is strong-arming him to Matt’s house, because apparently, it takes two people to ensure that Seth looks good.

“I don’t care how much you know about fashion,” Kevin says, straightening Seth’s lapels. “You need a critical eye.”

The critics have positive reviews, which is good, because they finish preparing just in time.

Seth’s heart is in his throat by the time he finds his seats with Ichirou and Neil. Andrew is there, too, mechanically folding the program he was given into what looks like a dagger.

“Oh,” Neil says, and his wide-eyed surprise quickly gives way to a grin. “This is perfect.”

“What? My face?” Seth rolls his eyes and lowers himself into his seat.

“Blue,” Ichirou notes, tapping Seth’s suit jacket. “Jewel tone, too. You’ve been keeping secrets.”

“How do you know I picked it?”

“Kevin would never think of this,” Ichirou says drily, gesturing to the folded silk in Seth’s front pocket. It has a border of cherry and orange blossoms. “Besides, I’m not blind. You had a good haircut even before Riko dyed it.”

“Fair,” Seth mutters, and then he crosses his legs and focuses on the stage.

He’s heard Riko sing—mostly Paramore or other pop punk bands, one hand hanging out the window of Seth’s car as they drive between school and their homes. Riko has a good voice; that much is obvious. The few times Seth has made it into choir practice, he’s heard how clear and perfect Riko’s voice is. How it rings like a bell, each note perfect and complete.

Seth is just excited to see Riko perform on stage. It _is_ a stage; the largest in the district, situated inside a Fine Arts Center where everything is designed for perfect acoustics. With the pale bouquets of flowers lining the aisles, it almost seems like a wedding.

“He’s the finale,” Ichirou explains quietly as the orchestra starts to tune.

Seth laughs. “Of course, he is. He has to go out with a bang.”

The concert begins.

Seth would be lying if he said he paid any attention to the other performers. His heart is erratic in his chest; all he knows is a tense anticipation, nervousness making his leg jump as he waits.

When it is finally time, Riko steps onto stage and Seth holds his breath.

_He’s beautiful._

Seth knows this; has known it for some time and allowed himself to feel it for a little less. He is attuned to every confident step Riko takes, the shine to his dark hair, the dusty rose color of his suit. The petal-smooth curve of his mouth.

When Riko approaches the microphone, he does not start. He stares out into the audience and instead says, “I must apologize first for the error in your programs. I will not be performing the song listed.”

Riko smiles to himself before he says, “I had a change of heart, about a month ago. I am lucky that I did, and I am lucky that our incredible orchestra has accommodated my request. So, without further delay…I Choose You.”

 _Hm,_ Seth thinks, and then he stops thinking because Riko starts singing and the soft echo of strings being plucked fills the hall.

He is absolutely starting to cry, but Seth could not care less.

 _The very first words of a lifelong love letter_ —

—and God, does he hope so, watching Riko on stage singing effortlessly, even the highest notes chiming like crystal while the orchestra follows him—

— _I choose you,_ Riko sings, and Seth can hardly see his face past a film of tears, and of course, everyone stands, because there is nothing more perfect than what has just happened.

He wants to run up to the stage. Seth wants to jump over Kevin and Jean and Jeremy’s legs to get out of the aisle and reach for the angel he sees on stage.

It would certainly be dramatic enough for Riko, but he’s not going to disrupt the concert.

So instead, Seth jumps over his friends and makes a beeline for the exit to the auditorium and the hallway that leads backstage.

He has one foot in the hallway when Riko’s pounding footsteps approach. Seth almost falls back when Riko hits him, arms tight around his body with more strength than Riko should have in his smaller body.

“You were beautiful,” Seth gasps, pulling at Riko’s arms just enough to push him back and look at his face. “You were so beautiful, flower—”

Something about Riko’s wide eyes and pleading expression ends whatever the end of Seth’s sentence was supposed to be. He abandons his words because they’ve said enough already, and he would much rather be kissing Riko.

So, Seth kisses him, fingers disrupting Riko’s perfect hair as he tries to hold steady to the center of his universe. It feels as if things have rearranged, somehow—something clicking into place that has been rattling, like a screw not completely tightened.

 _This is what it’s supposed to be like,_ Seth thinks, and he finds Riko’s mouth still sweet with the notes of the song he sang. There are people clapping politely in the auditorium next to them, but nothing matters as much as this. This, Riko’s hands curled into Seth’s shirt and a pleased moan in his throat.

When they finally part, it is only for lack of breath. Riko is practically gasping, his cheeks red and eyes hazy. Seth runs a hand through his hair again, pleased with the silky strands that slide over Riko’s face.

“I love you,” Seth says, because it is his answer, and he cannot wait to say it. He wants to say it a hundred more times, suddenly. “I love you, Riko. I—”

“I love you too,” Riko blurts, and the shock of it almost makes Seth cry again. He knows better than to push or rush, and hearing everything at once has flattened him.

Seth isn’t sure what to say or do next—whether to kiss Riko or move away from the auditorium doors, because they are surely about to be caught in the crowd—and then he doesn’t have to decide.

Riko opens his mouth and the next thing he says is, “Go to prom with me.” He blinks, shakes his head a little. “I mean—will you, go to—”

“Yes.” He wants to cry again and also laugh, and Seth _does_ laugh, half out of disbelief and half out of pure joy. He could believe that Riko planned this just to ask. “Of course, I will.”

“Good,” Riko breathes, sagging against Seth’s chest as his arms wind tighter around him. “I don’t know what I would have done if you said no, after all that.”

“You would kill me,” Seth jokes, laughing as he pulls Riko back into the doors that lead backstage. Riko’s feet dangle and he snorts, kicking them.

“No. I love you too much.”

Seth is going to cry again. He is, so he covers it as best he can by saying, “You’re really going for the throat. Now, who’s the sap?”

“Still you. Crybaby,” Riko whispers fondly, and then he kisses Seth as they stand in the shadows of the stage entrance.

Seth decides he has a name for what he is feeling. He thinks it’s _chosen_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you crying or is it the onions i made for dinner cause that's why i'm crying haha right


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